Infection (Justice League 2017 fic)
by MarthaBug0192
Summary: Diana discovers his self harm wounds, and a cut that's become infected. It turns out to be more dangerous than simple bacteria, and Barry slips into insanity. Rated T, M later. Nonsexual bondage, caretaking, self harm, mental instability, panic attacks, abuse, antisocial, sex. Sick!Barry/Fluff/Wonder!Mom/Daddy!Bruce Barry/Iris (IN-PROGRESS)
1. Infection, part 1 (Diana & Barry)

_At least as far as I know, there aren't many DCEU JL sick fics or hurt/comfort or fluffs, so I guess I'll be one of the first to introduce it. I'll add on to the cute Diana/Barry and Bruce/Barry. However I do not condone self harm and, as hypocritical as I am, I know it's very serious and I hope this is not a trigger to anyone. It was not originally an idea but people on FF and AO3 seem to enjoy the edge/bond it gives characters, so I thought it'd be just another thing you'd enjoy. I hope you guys enjoy. If this gets some fans, I could definitely do a follow-up to this, or do more Darry drabbles (and I may possibly take requests, if I can do it in under 2000 words). I'm also interested in trying Bruce and Barry out, but, for what, I'm not sure yet._

* * *

Barry's eyes came open. His heartbeat was running through his head, making his stiff neck feel clamped to the pillow. Just barely on the pillow, with the corner of the pillow stuffed against his ear and half of it hanging off the bed with his arms. The only thing that could distract him was to imagine his curled up body being a character in an apocalyptic film, although it became increasingly harder to even remember he had a brain.

A large but graceful hand appeared by his head. The hand knew it would be sweet regards to try fixing the pillow for him. Barry could sense a vibrating, warm aura coming from the hand, or possibly it was his fire of a fever. He'd let his eyes drift shut, and when he'd flutter them open, the hand would become hesitant.

There was a voice, softer than anything he'd heard in many, many years. "Did I wake you?"

He muttered. It was impossible to form any words with his groggy tongue and drooling lips. His face tried dipping into the pillow to hide the mess of drool, and he swear he felt it move, but nothing. "D... Dsdiana..."

The voice of Diana hushed him. She must've seen his head twitching in attempt to move. Her hand scooped under his neck, as she verbally guided him through how she'd be lifting his head. Although it was expected, it was still unexpectedly alarming how warm his neck was. He was ready to hit 101 at any point.

Barry trembled. He wasn't sure how alright he'd been with another person being so close to his face, though he let it go, because it was Diana.

She gasped when she felt his blood pressure increase. As well as the fact that his trembles seemed bone-deep. Her hand immediately let go of his neck. "It's alright, Barry." Quieter and softer hums would be in order, because stirring up a panic attack was the last thing she needed.

His eyes were surrendering. It didn't help that Diana kept encouraging it. On the other hand, she knew well.

Barry would usually cringe from something scraping objects, especially scratching against cloth - which is why he'd try using a washer or dryer as least as possible. But he couldn't deny this back scratching thing. Her thick but soft nails were tickle-scratching his back through his jacket. It was a pressure and tenderness that lulled him out of his stiffness.

She was a little late to ask him, and she already knew the answer but asked out of courtesy. "Is this alright?"

He muttered. More drool was pouring from his mouth, this time out of soothing instead of the need to vomit. She started rubbing in firm circles, a perfect balance between kneading and not over-stimulating. It numbed out his pain and it made his fatigue feel more natural than draining.

Diana gave his butt a few encouraging pats. "We must get this jacket off of you. It's too hot."

Another mutter came from him. He couldn't believe it so well if he hadn't been so sick, but he actually didn't want her to stop.

A few more pats to his butt. "You will start to feel better." While she concocted a way to roll the other side of his body out of his jacket, she lightly grabbed the arm that slumped over the bed. She brushed his wrist, sliding her fingers into the sleeve cuff, waiting for his approval. When she got a mumble, she ran her fingernails up his sleeved forearm. "I'm going to take this off. I promise, I will be gentle." Diana hoped Barry would try to help her. She hoped he'd be prepared enough to have his arm suddenly exposed, besides for the grip at his wrist that could be too tight for him.

His "eh" was interrupted by a yawn. Followed by a painful belly grumble and a moan. It was a little demeaning, however he'd prefer that involuntary human function more than Speed Force coughing or sneezing all over Diana. Oh yeah, he remembered: Diana had asked him a question. And her hand was delved into his sleeve.

She spoke loud enough for him to hear her over his pounding head. He could tell she was getting more worried, and that she was ready to be more demanding; her drawl was more formal and her formal was more drawl. "You are sweating." And, as a passive apology, "I know you might want it on, but you are too hot. If you start to feel cold in a while-"

Things pieced together in Barry's mind. She was proposing they'd remove his third favorite jacket. More importantly, remove his arm from it's hideyhole. Majority of the time he'd be hesitant and spew a shitty excuse, and, now, he was more hesitant than he thought he could ever be. The throbbing of his head was getting worse again, draining energy from his arm in order to stay conscious.

Diana placed his arm down and she turned away. She recollected the thermometer that she'd placed in her pocket when Bruce sent her to check on Barry. She could prove her point, if he wasn't going to listen.

Barry's body jolted at the sound of a beep. His eyes were the only thing he could control, but they were glued to the thermometer from the instant Diana showed it to him. She told him that she was going to be taking his temperature and something made her forget to ask if it was alright. He didn't notice, because every inch of energy was focused on the cleanliness of the stick that was about to go into his mouth. And the fact that a bluntly rounded object was about to prod under his tongue.

"Don't worry, Barry." She smiled at his innocence in the situation. "It's sterile, brand new." She started scratching his back again, so the warm breaths on her hand would slow down.

He swallowed, watching the tip of it until it disappeared under his nose. As Diana's nails rubbed up and down his back, his mind kept getting distracted from the feeling of the thermometer pushing through his lips. His OCD knew it wasn't sterile, and his anxiety knew that she knew about his fever, but it wasn't his choice at this point. She somehow maneuvered the tip under his limp tongue, and his drool acted as a suction to make sure it'd stay for the entire 102 degrees. He closed his eyes.

"Barry Allen, this jacket is coming off." And she definitely wasn't going to ask if it was alright at this point. She dropped the thermometer onto the nightstand, in the pile of cheeseburger wrappers and half-eaten bags of sour candy. "And your shoes."

Energy suddenly went to his legs. He shifted his foot off the bed for her to remove his shoe. His toes curled up tightly, clinging to the sweat in the worn out soles. And her getting to his other leg, which was bent into the bed, would buy even more time.

He felt his arm being lifted. The front of his jacket was being pulled up, and his elbow gently bent to loosen the sleeve. Being caked in sweat and degrees wasn't the ideal condition to claim he was c-c-cold. Maybe he should start peeing his pants...? It'd be obvious, and Diana wouldn't have him laying in urine for more than an attosecond.

Burrowing into the sleeve with her free hand, she started pushing his fragile, shaking arm toward his chest. Even with his ability to slow time, he still couldn't make this moment go by any less terrifyingly. His moans skipped like a record.

Diana went more gentle on his arm, though she deemed it best to move quicker so she could go back to scratching his back. "Shshshshsh..."

She leaned over him and gently swiped the jacket off, and folded it tightly between him and the bed. Immediately, she gave his thrusting back some deep kneading along his spine. "It's alright, honey."

He pressed the inside of his forearm into his chest. No, it wasn't.

"I'll turn you to your other side." And she felt he deserved for her to ask, "Is that alright?"

"...No."

A chuckle came from her, as she stood straight again. "I need to, in order to remove your jacket."

With how nicely she'd said it, he couldn't bear to argue her. "Nmm...Yeah."

Diana resituated his feet, then shifted him onto his back.

Barry forced the anxiety to leave his muscles. Relaxing would make him heavier. Though he knew it wouldn't really make a difference with a woman who's exterminated freakishly tall bug demons. He just let his arm slump onto his chest him, his wrist and beyond completely hidden. His eyes fluttering occasionally to check on Diana.

"Barry, please."

He sighed. He bent his legs to the other side, to make up for it.

She talked him through as she slowly turned him away from her. Talking to him in croons was soothing to him and it was keeping the pain at bay. Explaining to him that this side would actually be easier than the other - just to give him something to hear - before she expressed how he was cooperating so well.

His arm went stiff against his chest, though not too stiff so it wouldn't attract her attention. Just keeping his loose fist on Rick... Pickle Rick. Cronenberg Rick. Tiny Rick. He actually couldn't recall which shirt he had put on before suddenly passing out the morning before. But still, hand on Rick's face.

Diana worked the jacket off his other arm and folded it on the foot of the bed. It would be collected for laundry later; right now, he needed a break. She started rubbing circles on his lower back. Some scratches, gentler than the ones before she'd removed his jacket. His back was still, besides for light breathing. Seeing him almost lull to sleep was worth feeling as if her hand was an inch away from a fire. Although she's certainly been in worse situations, it was difficult for her to rub too hard against the bones of his back. The shirt and skin being the only cushion to his rapid metabolism. No matter how sure she was that she couldn't hurt him, something made paranoia ball up inside her.

She chuckled when another grumble rang in his belly. "We'll need to get you something to eat once you're settled into bed again."

The nausea was ready to vanish if it was food time. He hadn't eaten probably since the takeout pizza, which had fallen off this other side of the bed when he started falling unconscious. Grease-soaked box and stale cheese was still as delightful to his nose as always.

"Barry."

He popped his eyes open and cheeked her way with a non-chalant smile. "What?"

"Show me it."

His eyes got even wider, rolling around. "Uhrm..."

"Yes. Show it to me."

Barry was thankful to be facing the other way. He could avoid the worried wrath splayed on her face whilst he avoided looking at her. "I-I don't know what you're - talking - about," with the last few words heightening in a dumb tone.

"You may not know what I'm talking about, but I do. And I'd like to see it."

Rapid breathing was the only thing he remembered how to do in that moment. He felt her hand on his upper back, slightly brushing the shoulder blade of the arm he was hiding.

"Barry. Barry, you're alright.

"I promise, you're alright. I need you to let me see."

He dug his forearm between the bed and his other arm. Shaking back and forth weakly, his head dipped downward towards the arm. No doubt, she'd already seen what there was to see. Somehow she'd caught a glance, if he'd drifted to sleep, or with her fucking supervision or something.

"I'm going to turn you to your back." She refixed the pillow behind his head. Her palms brushed the sheet flat and free of crumbs behind him. Fingers combed through the back of his raven black hair, trying to split the oily clumps apart to make it even. Within seconds, she had him rolled onto his back.

He moaned, watching her kneel down and slowly reach for his arm, which was mere inches away. After he heard her say, "Don't make me," his face was as red as it was hot. He threw his arm out for her, turning his face the other way. Cringing was the only way to keep him from sulking or breaking from anxiety.

"Thank you, Barry." It was very genuine. Though shock had her silenced from there.

Up close view made it even scarier. Besides the fact that these wounds were on his arm. One of her own had been destroyed, one cut at a time. A shallow but long, quick cut was hidden under bloody gauze, which was anally caked in layers of tape. Slices, some scabbed and some peeled, trailed down his arm. Some of the slices and scars sat upon others, which were slanted, or imperfect in some way. One layer had been repeated at least five times near his elbow, and the fight to create a perfect line had left dips in his skin as big as bacon bits. His wrist was covered in dips, where there had once been nicks worse than dog bites. Below the nicks, a laceration was being overrun by pus. The laceration only seemed to get deeper for each second she looked at it. The corners had made fair attempts to scab up, but they were turning yellow and cracking open again. Barry knew what she was looking at, and his arm started trembling to get away in fear of her touching it and irritating the excruciating hole in his arm.

With a squeeze of his wrist, she demanded, "Who's done this to you?"

His head shifted her way, just enough for her to see the twinkle of innocence leave his eye.

"Oh, Barry..."

The drop in her voice made his face go back to his other shoulder.

"No... Barry..." Even the unarguably most powerful woman on earth was still as such great loss for words. "Honey, this is very infected."

"I-I know."

She couldn't stand watching his face become paler than normal. "I need to call Bruce."

His arm trembled more until it broke free from her hand. "No, you can't." He prayed she wouldn't bring anyone else into it. Especially Bruce. Bruce could never see him in this light. Barry looked up to him, had been empowered by him every single day of his life - Bruce knew that, and took his own comfort into it. It was impossible to visualize any scene where Barry would be able to look his idol in the eyes, with the man knowing about how he'd been destroying himself. Eyes were definitely the strongest feature - they enclosed the oppressed state of Bruce and the oppression that Batman was easily able to give and, most importantly, the decades of disappointment that Barry would die before adding to. And, just as impossible to fathom, how Barry had been hiding it for so long, how dismantled all of his trust would become, how guilty the others would be for not doing something and being stupid.

He swore he saw it in Diana's face when he glanced over.

Diana had gotten up and walked to the other side of the room to make a phone call, but she returned down next to him. "Hey. Look at me." It was softer and calmer now, but still a demand. She reached for his farther cheek and slowly guided his head to face her. It was getting even hotter from the stress, and whiter than the streaks of his lightning.

His eyes interlocked with hers. He was completely defeated, physically and now mentally. This was the only option.

"Relax. I understand. I promise I understand. Right now, we just need to fight this infection. You need to relax. I am going to call Bruce, he and I will handle it."

She'd noticed the brown of his eyes being encompassed by black pupils and the light grinding of his teeth whenever she mentioned Bruce.

"Barry, I apologize, but Bruce needs to know. I know that he would rather discover this, than discover you taken out by something we could have helped." She got to her feet to proceed with the call.

She was right. It was a difficult thing, but it could be unbearably worse.

The pounding in his head was coming on strong again. He still listened with eyes of a hawk for ears. Maybe he'd be able to construct what was coming from the other end of the phone. He didn't know what time it was, so he could bank on Alfred answering the phone or Bruce taking a "work" call.


	2. Infection, part 2 (Diana, Bruce & Barry)

_To the newcomers or people coming back, I really appreciate it! It made my day to see a ton of views within the first day. I'll take opinions or requests, if I can tie them into my storyline. I hope you enjoy this part and much more to come!_

* * *

Barry's fluttering eyes found a sideways man. Bruce had taken over Diana's spot and was towered over the side of the bed. "Barry?"

"Bruce?"

Bruce was very slowly coming closer, until he was on one knee. His head took a full ten seconds to tilt in observation, and he gazed along Barry's face so slowly that Barry could see the tics of his eyes instead of one fluid movement.

Vibrations bounced along the air. It was Diana's voice, but with such a low tone and volume, it was incredibly distorted. He looked over at her in the corner of the room. There wasn't much to make out besides for her black hair and the burgundy of her lips, which were blurred and smeared into the environment. Bruce's face, all down to the specks of his beard, was crystal clear as long as he wouldn't drastically move again.

Bruce's voice was like thunder, rolling around slowly. His lips were moving slowly enough for Barry to piece together the movements of his mouth. " _Diana, c'mere.._."

Barry's eyes now started to focus in to Diana's upper body, and Bruce's grimacing eyes and agape mouth were becoming blurred into browns and pink. A smudge of black slowly went for Barry's face and his face instantly clamped shut, until he realized it was Bruce's tie waving around. Diana moved towards the bed gradually, which made it slightly easier for Barry to keep clear sight of her. The walls and ceiling behind them was coming through, and it served an unexplainable comfort to remember that he was in the same place he'd been in before passing out.

More thunder rolled through, grimmer each time. A streak of brown moved on Bruce's face, presumably his eyebrow.

The lens of Barry's eyes took time to focus on Diana's lips, the crinkles in the burgundy and the way her teeth and chin mechanized. He heard something along the lines of his blood pressure.

Bruce's sudden loud muffle made Barry gasp faster than a hiccup. His body jolted in surprise for less than an attosecond. However he was too scared to look down and try figuring out what was going on with his body, in the case he'd lose focus on Diana.

Her slightly higher pitched thunder was saying his name. Her lips asked if he could understand her.

Bruce glanced between Diana and the young man sprawled on his bed. He needed to communicate with Diana, but he was terrified to miss something on Barry's end. He hadn't been so horrifingly confused in decades, even in the moment where the last son of Krypton had him in the air by his neck.

Diana placed her hand on Barry's upper arm, trying to calm him as he made spastic twitches and tics. The low, rapid pressure in his cephalic vein felt like teeth chattering in his bicep. She stared longingly at the fresh gauze on his arm. There was no way to forget the condition it was in earlier, when she'd gutted his bathroom for first aid supplies. There was a hope that the antibiotic and soothing effects of her saliva had been doing at least something in the past forty minutes. She resisted her dire need to peel the dressing back and check on it.

Since Bruce would try to play his repressing self. per usual, she'd gradually taken her position back. Her hands hurried to support his neck, to get him to look straight at her. "Barry, can you speak to me?"

Barry's eyes shot up to hers.

His eyes were still working and he could use them. She sighed.

His eyes being lackluster, except for the occasional darting, was easily one of the most disturbing things she's ever witnessed. He traced between both her eyes at deathly speeds. Eyelids thrusting together twice every second. Odd streaks of black were closing in on his dark irises, but it couldn't fool Diana. His tiny pupils were barely the length of sesame seeds, and even flatter at that.

He muttered in response. After a while of Diana doubting her ability to sense his consciousness, this was a reassurance to her. She honed into a second set of mutters, knowing she'd have roughly a millisecond to collect each syllable.

A giant smile eclipsed her face. It was incredible to hear him say her name and ask her what was going on.

She spoke in a normally soft tone to gauge his response. A gap cracked between his lips in confusion. His pupils nearly decreased to nothing as they darted towards the window in fear. She caught them tracing over the gaps in the blinds.

Bruce remained towards Barry, but his eyes shifted to the back of Diana's head in astonishment and enlightenment. "You understand him? What's he saying?"

Barry's face scrunched up, in the same cringing he'd given Diana earlier, as well as many times before. His teeth ground together at the speed of a belt sander against wood. Or, to him, it felt like the worst lagging ever in the entire twenty-five years of his life. He couldn't respond quick enough or release the tension of having waves of thunder darting towards him. He knew it was only Bruce's voice, but he also knew that Bruce would just keep getting deeper and brawnier the more concerned he got. It was usually an amazing, even mesmerizing, thing to hear, and the self-shame from being disturbed by it was making all of these even worse.

Diana turned her head back to give Bruce a look. It was obvious that something about Bruce speaking had upset Barry, yet it wasn't as if Diana could just tell Bruce to shut up. Especially now, of all the times she should have. She breathed, and whispered, "Draw the blinds as tightly as possible. The sunlight is excruciating."

Drastic weight dropped from Barry's eyes when Bruce had finally gotten the window to stop beaming five tons of light at him per second.

A massive part of his vision was very gradually being overridden by a huge blur. Something was on his scalp. Fleshy fingerpads were slowly crawling between clumps of his hair. After a moment, the bristles of black hair were no longer stuck to his forehead. Diana's fingers very cautiously played with his bangs, her nails brushing along his hairline occasionally. He looked back to her face to get a clear focus in case she started talking to him.

She asked him, in the normally calm tone, "Can you understand me?"

Widened empty eyes, the gap in his lip bigger. She took it as a no, though it was good progress to know he'd heard it.

With the raise of her brows, she said his name. Slower a second time.

He quickly perked up with the first. Gave her a look that was weirder than the default confused-Barry face, with the second.

Though it was the opposite of a walk in the park with Barry, her mouth still turned into a smile from witnessing him being his usual self. Her voice increased speed and firmness, which caused him to perk up again. She told him, "If you can understand me, close your eyes."

Diana and Bruce watched for his signal, just as slowly as he was watching them.

Barry was hesitant to, considering his lens would lose focus again. But he needed to compromise, for Diana and for Bruce. When his eyes lethargically drifted shut to blink, he let them rest closed.

"Alright, Barry," her voice growing even swifter, "do you know where you are?"

He kept his eyes open for what seemed like a notable amount of seconds, before letting the lethargy close them

"Good!" Diana glanced at Bruce to validate that she wasn't dreaming things were going well. "Barry, where are you hurting?"

He forced his eyes shut. Conveying pain dramatically was the only release he had.

Her hand reached for his temple, where the fever had been disappearing. Prior to moving down to his neck, she gave him a moment to open his eyes. His eyes remained closed as she moved down his chest and to his belly, and radiated around his ribs. She stopped herself from moving quickly to touch his wrapped forearm, when she realized she should take advantage of being slow. Barely touching, just a hand resting on the side of his arm. "I know, it hurts the most here. It'll be alright, love."

Diana paused. She was frozen besides for her parting mouth.

Bruce stepped closer to peer over her.

"I can't feel his pulse."


	3. The Ambulance (Diana, Bruce & Barry)

Every time Barry fluttered into consciousness, he was thrown into vertigo.

His joints mildly ached from being stuck perfectly supine on his back. Arms, legs, and torso sandwiched tightly between thick straps and a neoprene mat. Unable to reposition his neck as it was secured in place by the hugging of neoprene and polyisoprene. His left bicep slowly being strangled for what felt like hours. Face too tired to cringe when his whole arm became agonizingly numb.

An IV in his elbow, of which he wouldn't have known about if it wasn't being set up in the corner of his eye. The numbness in his arm was so splitting that he wouldn't focus on something he couldn't fully see.

A small halogen light, beyond the back of his head, just barely lit the 5x7 space enough to show the shaking of the white ceiling. He traced the line between two doors in front of him, how even it was. And how evenly the two windows lined up, despite being able to see nothing in them besides for bouncing light.

There was a person in the room with him. Behind him somewhere. Their fingers smashing into a keyboard. Constantly changing the lights on the walls around him. All off, then all dim, then a couple beaming by his head. Whenever he tried to count the rest of the lights around him, he'd lull back into blackness.

One of the times, Barry awoke to another thermometer probing into his mouth. The soft tip being forced into the frenulum of his tongue by an oblivious hand. The coils of the thermometer's cord grazing through his hair.

A beep came from behind his head somewhere. Then a sequence of aggressive beeping. Accompanied by a tiny flashing red light behind his head that illuminated the room from white to pink. The hand was shaking, forcing itself to keep the thermometer in his mouth.

The faint smell of leather and rubber hit Barry whenever the hand came closer to his nose. Finally the stubble of Bruce's chin appeared in the corner of his eye. Bruce was kneeled down next to Barry's neoprene bed. He failed to keep his eye contact from becoming too intense. But Barry was okay with it, considering the fact that Bruce isn't really capable of being soft. Barry choked saliva down to mutter Bruce's name.

The typing continued behind him. Diana was typing in between her incoherent questions to Bruce.

The young man's lips pursed, being the only controllable body part. Bruce watched his doe eyes to make sure the life wouldn't slip from them again. He argued with himself on whether he should try to speak to Barry, after Barry's reaction earlier. He whispered to Diana, "107 degrees Fahrenheit." One degree away from sending Barry into a convulsive death, and roughly nine extra degrees that made Bruce's windpipe tighten up.

Diana shot Bruce a look. If 107 wasn't a solid number, she would've been able to accuse Bruce of his usual overreacting - in attempt to make everything feel more alright than it actually was. Her face absorbed heat from the body that was restrained in the center of the bumpy ambulance. Having his poor mouth molested with a coated metal stick. His doe eyes desperate for a Tuesday evening that didn't require straps digging into his pale bony skin.

It gave Bruce a weird clenching feeling near his collarbone to have to confirm what he just told Diana. It was a sensation Bruce hadn't felt in a long time, but he knew it meant that everything was going wrongly. As Barry's cheekbones grew more sullen, Bruce's free hand whipped a gel pack onto his forehead.

The pack hitting Barry's face had knocked the air from his lungs. It stole most of his mental energy, leaving him to release his pain in moans. His lips pursed again.

In unison, Diana and Bruce were at their knees, externally operating on him. From the side, Bruce plucked the thermometer from Barry's mouth, prior to shimmying the silicone tip of a tympanic thermometer into his ear. Barry took Bruce's aggression, because a tiny part of him was still able to recognize the burning concern in Bruce's eyes. From the other side, Diana was leaned in front of Barry to present a rolled up tube. An oxygen cannula. He closed his eyes, thinking of it as a way to tell Diana to give him oxygen.

She complied. Even quicker than she would have, if Barry hadn't shown himself to be so desperate.

Diana realized they still had over 20 minutes until entering Gotham, and the post-work traffic would easily add an extra 20 to the 35 it'd take to reach Wayne Manor. She wanted to release his head from confinement, but his inability to support his neck gave the bumpy highway too many chances to knock him into whiplash. She loosened the blood pressure cuff on his left arm. She released his right arm from its straps and rubbed the tension from his shoulder. Watching him be able to slowly fidget his arm was secondhand comfort to her. Before the perfectionist Bruce could remind her that they were in a moving vehicle at 65 mph, she turned away. He was the one who'd panicked and insisted Alfred take them by ambulance instead of air.

Bruce sighed. He left Barry's sight and pressed a button for an intercom. "Alfred. How's it going?"

"Oh," an old saint's voice breathed through the speaker, "a marvelous view; mild breeze to top a spring's evening. Rather fine, at least for a man who isn't beset with a dire emergency in the rear of a van."

Bruce answered Alfred's passive question. "We got him on oxygen. Diana's keeping him calm." He added, "Alfred, we need to go faster."

Alfred quipped as his eyes scrolled around. "I did not see the sign that says to start speeding."

Bruce glanced out the windows before dipping his face into his hand. This was going too slow to be the speed limit.

He turned to Diana. "While you're babying him, you might as well be holding that ice pack into place." As if holding it harder would help harder.

Diana was focused on other ways of making Barry not feel like he was dying. Keeping his free arm situated safely. Preventing his body from overwhelming and getting pressure sores. Wicking caked sweat from his neck and hands, dodging his eyes from the burning of sweat, and suctioning excess saliva out of his mouth to keep him from choking. Talking him out of going into a panic attack. Tracking his pulse and ability to breathe. Reading blood pressure so the tight cuff wouldn't nearly kill his arm. "My third hand would _love_ to, Bruce."

Bruce sucked air through his teeth. He kneeled back down, behind Barry's head. Partly to hold the pack, but mostly to let Barry look up and see that he was there for him too.

Barry's cheeks tightened with his mouth, his lips curled into his teeth awkwardly. Torn on who he should be looking at. The woman babying him because she was worried about him, or the man turning into a baby because he was worried about him.


	4. Infirmary (Diana & Barry) (M)

Light beamed from the grimy windows through Barry's eyelids. As he eventually opened them, he gasped at the grayscale around him. The beams above him and the bed rails. A mounted steel table with its share of scratches, adjacent to a row of cabinetry. Even the odor of rust and buzzing of appliances, he could describe as gray. His eyes lit up for the first time in days, despite his stomach ache.

The Batcave. This was a section he hadn't seen yet, which made him even more excited than he'd been the first time Bruce brought him in. And the second time, and every time after that. It was probably the exasperation that made his bandaged hand come up to his chest.

He fidgeted with the tube that trailed down the side of his neck. Trailing down out of his nostril. The lubrication in his throat and the fact he didn't remember it being put down into his stomach were the only things stopping him from wanting to vomit everywhere. The tape that kept it in place was clinging to every tiny hair in his cheek. Rolling the corners of the tape wouldn't make it feel looser.

The prong in his other nostril led to a cannula. The cannula only being over one ear made him recognize just how heavy tubing is. That ear had beared the weight of a tube long than his other ear. Not to mention the mild odor of iron that came from a dried recent nosebleed, which was being forced in with the oxygen.

How clean they managed to keep his clothes was able to take the edge off. No stains that could've been prevented. His shirt was perfectly fit, no fabric rolled up between he and the bed, even after they'd pulled it up for a heart monitor. And, apparently, to wash some of the sweat off of him. His black jeans and boxers were refitted after a catheter bag, with a very careful attempt to return them to the exact same spot on his hips. Feeling his urethra stuffed with lubrication - and plenty more lube still slathered on his tip, he didn't have to worry about it being inserted carefully. His socks weren't bunched up, with the gray strictly on the heel and toes. With no way to imagine how many times it'd take for them to fix it in case he woke up. A mint gray Egyptian cotton blanket was folded back and tucked into the footboard of the bed.

Diana returned to the infirmary. Her face glossed over from his full consciousness, how he and his full curiosity had sprung back to the world.

His eyes were on his hand. The gauzed arm had become a bandaged arm and hand.

She sat onto a stool at his bedside. With a grab of his arm, she stroked his fingers with her thumb and said, "Your fever is under control. The infection spread, somehow. Papercuts and dry skin on your hand opened up, and began to swell. We were able to control the edema and bleeding. We are doing what we can to prevent it from spreading any more." She cut herself short. Without realizing, she was observing his fingernails. The bitten nubs were growing brittle, gradually at a minuscule level.

"A-a-and, what does that mean for me?" He suggested the same for the IV line in his elbow. It was unsure whether he was truly able to feel the liquid being dispersed into his bloodstream or if it was just his sensitivity to every stupid little thing.

"If you feel like you can eat some food, I'll take you off."

In that instant, his belly growled violently. An ache shot through his tract. Food was more than appetizing. He tried suppressing his groans when Alfred appeared in the doorway at cue, wielding a tray.

She inclined his bed to 110 degrees. Dodging his hand as it tried helping her remove the cannula, she assured him, "Yes, I will take it off." She had to stop him from trying to pull the tube out from his stomach, at least until Bruce came back. He was disappointed that she left the needle and port protruding from his arm, but she was able to distract him with one of his favorite foods.

His tongue peeked from his lips when Alfred brought an overbed table to Diana's side. A large plate, a small protein shake, and a tall glass of cider, with a water glass and a satisfyingly neat pile of folded napkins on the side. Almost two pounds of carbohydrates, sugar, and fat made his nose perk up. Softened butter being mixed into homemade mashed potatoes was making his mouth literally drip like the condensing water glass. A few days of having no food hit his palate were starting to feel like months. His shirt brushed the tip of his ribcage, which has never been out of his waist that much. The IV and nasogastric tube were serving as no more than an attempt to keep his heart going until this meal.

She tucked the end of a cloth napkin into his shirt collar. Barry's chin collapsed on her hand as he tried watching what it was doing. He felt a big clump of napkin on one side, that wasn't on the other. It wasn't being folded the right way, it wasn't being distributed against his skin in the right amounts, it wasn't covering his fifth best shirt as much as it needed to. She wasn't doing any help, only prodding her fingers on his collarbone.

Diana stopped and moved her hands onto her lap, patiently waiting for him to cooperate. He thought he was fixing it, but really he was just slowly dragging it back out of his shirt. Upon realizing, he sighed and splayed it out to find the creases from where she'd folded it. She was incapable of watching him, weakly trying to press the folds back in and lining it up to his collar. "Barry... Please."

He didn't initially respond. The firmness in her voice clicked in his brain and sent his eyes towards her.

"What's wrong, Barry?" His problem was clear and simple, though she knew there was a wrong beneath his surface. Those chocolate eyes rarely ever gave her or anyone that look. Glossed over in aggression, despite for a composed face, relaxed neck, loose torso. Cheekbones hiding a grimace that destroyed him from underneath the skin. His skin crawled in hysteria, like his cries were waiting to come out. Crying, for Barry, had consisted of hiccuping and dry heaving out of hysteria or exhaustion - one of very few things that was strong enough to rip Diana's heart out. "Barry."

He put the napkin and his hands on his own lap. "I'm sorry, Diana. I don't know." His foot fidgeted with the blanket, in the same fashion that he'd kick alleyway gravel. "It's just bothering me."

She paused, turning her head around in listening mode.

Hair swept on his forehead as he bounced his head and torso around. He was looking around the infirmary for something to say. It was hard trying to explain, the things he was aware that she knew but was waiting for him to release. He wanted everything perfect, he was dependent on her to do things the perfect way, and something was making him unable to wait for her. And a part of him was doubtful of Diana, paranoid that she would disregard the magic god or whatever that told her what he needed. He hated himself for thinking that way, for thinking she could ever be unloyal. Really, all he'd said to her was, "It's complicated when things aren't perfect and I'm famishing." A simplification of an issue that they both knew wasn't simple.

The gloss of his eyes had disappeared when they returned contact with hers. His body sunk into the bed slightly more, in malaise and in an overall surrender.

With nothing to say at the moment, she apologized. Her concern and natural dominance had gotten to her and was getting to Barry too.

"No, I'm sorry." His face went down into his shoulder.

"No," she firmly said. "We're both sorry. And it's alright."

Barry's teeth chattered. He wasn't capable of arguing her.

Diana changed the subject to his feet. The gray toes burrowed under the blanket. All of his energy was going toward becoming comfortable. She stopped herself from reaching over the bed and instead told him, "I'm going to cover you up and make you comfortable."

His face came back up to see a small grin in her lips and eyes. He smiled back.

Her hand lightly took the napkin from his fidgeting fingers and placed it on the table. She tightened the fitted sheet on her side to avoid wrinkles and lumps. Then she leaned over him as gently as possible to get the other side.

With his eyes growing wider than capacity, he flattened his nonbandaged hand out to avoid any awkward brushing. He was quite comfortable indeed. The softness of her breast sent a shock through his torso. It was more feelable than absolutely anything. Her breasts were spontaneously brushing along his body. His member didn't care that it had a tube in it, and that Diana was scoping out the entire bed. Being weak made him even more capable of trying to suppress.

His mind crumpled like tissue paper. On the other end of his torso, it was getting stiffer than a tree. How about the time he'd fallen into Wonder Woman, exactly 67 days ago? It started with him trying to save her, and instantly turned into him being on top of her. She hadn't said anything, so he banked on having been too quick for her to notice. He thinks about it more often than a moraled hero should. He remembers being sprawled out on top of her, like a disoriented turtle flailing its arms in confusion. Almost every part of him regrets not risking every type of humiliation to get just a few more seconds with her body. His mouth a millimeter away from where her nipple would've been. Absorbing the heat of her body through his suit. And how close his excitement hard-on had been to her sugar shack, with his thin codpiece nestled between her thick thighs. It's been impossible to forget the scent of her body lotion, to the point where he'd scavenged the entire city for some and started using it when the memory came to mind.

He really needed to stop thinking. It was making him throb. He was plastered with the expression children have when they're pretending to not have stolen a cookie from the jar. His entire body was tensing. He swallowed his entire throat, watching her bring the blanket up over him.

"Getting comfortable," she crooned, trying to keep Barry's stiffening body from going into a possible anxiety attack.

She began tucking the blanket into his legs and hip. As he began worrying. Was she able to see the throbbing? Was the smell of a peculiar women's lotion wafting through the cotton?

Had she smelled her lotion when she applied the catheter? With the way things were going earlier between she and Bruce, it's plausible she'd taken private-part duty. This was another thought that drove his hard-on, but in a naughty/terrifying way. If she had smelled what happened to be her most commonly used lotion, it wouldn't have been a coincidence. Especially since he had no reason to be lubing with, or even own, something that smells like a flower's asshole. Obviously she wouldn't mention it to him, if she either had or had not noticed. Fuck...

"Barry."

The only scent she had today was from her shower. Not saying it wasn't nice, but, more importantly, it wasn't a problem when it easily could've been. This might've been the most glad he could ever be.

"Barry."

He easily recalled first meeting her. How he'd stood there, his jacket sleeves balled into his fists, staring at the biggest breasts he'd ever seen. Like a moron. An easily amused, eager, obsessive moron. He'd called her Barry, introduced himself as Diana. Having completely forgotten how to act, forgotten how to even fucking talk. Infants, as young as three months, can talk. Even birds can fucking talk. Diana had tolerated his shit, and had the heart to bear a smile that was genuine rather than pitiful or kind. She had tried referring to him as an intelligent individual, by saying, "So, this is us?" He'd ignored it, before throwing a finger up in the air and screaming at a cloud. Embarrassing Bruce - the poor man who had to lug around a moron who wasn't even as capable as an infant - who had trusted Barry enough to present him to an important person.

He was broken from thought when Diana tucked the blanket into his armpits. She'd moved his arms and pulled the blanket up completely, after guessing what he would've wanted if he'd have answered her.

Diana stared into his eyes, checking for glossiness, or for the odd black streak.

"I just..." he muttered. "I was spacing out."

She chuckled. "Happy to know you're alright." Sitting back down and reaching for a new napkin, she followed up with, "Some daydreaming?"

He froze.

She asked Alfred to reheat Barry's food with an advanced thank you. Then turned back to Barry. Even if he wasn't making eye contact, it was still good for him to get hers. "Sometimes I will space out, too. I will have old memories come back to me, pleasant or often ugly, and it's good to take the time to reflect on them."

His breath got stuck in his throat. His entire esophagus tightened up around his NG tube. He couldn't even glance at her. He was perfectly certain she was reading his mind right now. She knew about everything; the lotion, him being a moron, his raging erection that was slowly dying off, no doubt. And now it was time for her to rub it in his face. To fuck with his head. She knew she was doing a good job of it.

Her tucking him in at his armpits was probably her testing him. For weak spots. Why, he didn't know; she already had him vulnerable as fuck.

She continued in a softer voice, her fingernails running through the side of his hair, "Do you ever daydream about traveling?"

Yeah, he often did.

"Getting out, seeing new things? Even often creating locations or attractions that aren't existent, so you can discover them within your mind?"

Yeah, certainly. His imagination would take him places. He'd often wonder what the city itself was like, outside of his book cave. The furthest he'd go would be dragging himself to the bus stop to go, once again, see the fate of his father. Otherwise, life was within a 3 mile radius of his broken fence. Walking down a long trail of alleys, to do projects that weren't available online or in text reading. Hitting the gas station across the corner for hot pizza and Teenycakes, praying he wouldn't have to use his powers. Then he'd have to abandon his favorite objects, shave his hair, and find some other unbroken place to live.

He seriously needed to get out more. He'd recreate his own city of residence in his head, from lack of an actual image. How insane. But, radical. Maybe it could be a world record, or a little section of a Believe It Or Not book. Next to the picture of a guy with tattooed scales and nipple piercings.

"Thank you, Alfred."

Barry took a huge whiff of the mashed potatoes. He then remembered, the napkin. He felt it graze on his neck, stuffed into his shirt collar.

Diana reassured him, "It's perfect. That is a bigger one that I thought would work better."

He looked down at it just to make sure.

She rolled the table over the bed, with generous space between him and the table but with the food in close proximity. He wasn't too responsive to it, so she assumed he was starting to get tired again. Hopefully he would eat enough and fall asleep to a full belly.

Barry glanced around the table as she named off what she'd be feeding him. He watched the spoon stir through the potatoes, beating the heat from it. The spoon started for his mouth. He looked at Diana.

She was looking back, smiling at how cranky his face was. He might not have realized it, but his eyes were slightly squinted and his jaw was grinding to one side, so defiantly. "Open up," she insisted.

His hunger came back to him. He took the bite and swallowed it before Diana could even put the spoon back to the plate.

She fed his open mouth another bite, smaller than the last. "Barry, it's soft, but you still need to chew it." She guided him with, "Chew... chew... chew... chew."

He had no other option. Knowing Diana - and Diana knowing he knew how she was - she'd probably make the bites smaller for each time he defied.

She delivered immediately when his mouth opened, as a way to return his cooperation. "You can have as much as you'd like. Though you need to enjoy it, and be gentle to your stomach."

A gurgle resonated in his throat. He'd been swallowing a ton of air with a small ratio of food. Being slumped in a bed was keeping it from coming up.

Diana put the spoon down and pushed the table back. She rubbed his belly in circles, kneading with the flesh of her palm. His belly was starting to return to usual size, most of it being from bloating, yet it was a nice sight.

He opened his mouth, in attempt to take advantage of how generous she was when he'd cooperate.

"No, you need a break." Her circles went faster. "You need to burp for me."

The massaging stirred up pressure, causing his belly to send gurgles up his throat. While waiting to hear a burp, she said, "Will you drink some Ensure for me? Then you can eat some more."

Regardless of not being happy about it, a well-needed burp rang from him. There was no room for him to be mad, with how amazingly relieved he felt. He closed his eyes and wished he hadn't tried to discourage her. He tried to make eye contact, but his eyes would slowly surrender.

"Yes, you're definitely getting tired." She continued to rub for another minute, under the excuse that she needed to try for more burps. It was her new favorite thing to see him relaxed and comforted, but she mustn't spoil him.

Diana spoke loudly, just enough to keep him awake but not snap him from drowse. He'd eaten over half the plate and accepted some cider, so she said to him, "Drink some of this shake. I'll brush your teeth and let you go to sleep."

He'd denied it earlier, not being a fan of the odd chocolate bubblegummy flavor. Now he was so tired that he was ready to go with anything.

"Ten drinks." She supported his neck in one hand to keep him from choking or falling asleep. Her other hand slowly poured into his lips, counting each swallow.

By the eighth, Diana decided to let him have his sleep. He was sinking into the bed, his lips parted open more than his fluttering eyes, his breathing on the verge of becoming steadier. She carefully pulled the napkin out, rolled the dropped and spit food into it, and dried his lips with a clean corner.

A slam made the infirmary shake. Immediately Bruce's voice was calling out for her. His heavy footsteps echoed through the entire Batcave as he left the elevator.

She hurried to open the infirmary door and hush him.

Bruce cut himself off when he glanced over her shoulder to find Barry resting, breathing slowly with his eyes draped shut. His gruffy voice attempted a whisper. "I'm sorry..." He headed for the bed.

"So, where have you been?" Her arms came together across her chest. She wasn't going to get mad just yet, but she was curious.

"I had some errands." He took Diana's seat next to Barry. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching the young man sleep. "Regular Wayne Enterprise business."

"After Barry woke up, you told me you would be here as soon as possible to take his tube out and check him up."

Bruce sighed. Nowhere in that sentence was she wrong. Barry fell asleep, after having his first solid meal, with a tube down his throat. Diana had watched it, and dealt with it alone.

"Well, now that he is asleep, you'll have no trouble." Diana still had her arms crossed, but was at Bruce's side to watch Barry with him. "I was going to brush his teeth as you came in. He cooperated so well today. A little tough, but I managed."

Bruce had no words. She was speaking them all. It was fantastic to hear about Barry being awake for hours. And how easily and peacefully he was able to sleep. How interactive she was with him, and him with her. How much of a damn good job she'd put up. He looked at Barry's body, how nicely she had him tucked in. He heard Diana spew out all the cute, or rather worrisome, things she's seen and heard that day. And he considered, there was no way to predict just how tough Barry Allen could be on a person, yet Diana hadn't gone insane, and she had him looking almost brand new after a tragic three days. And although she loved Barry and needed to see the best for Barry, she was doing it for Bruce because Bruce loved Barry. Bruce knew he couldn't admit that.

Though, Bruce forced himself to admit that he was disappointed in himself that day. Coming home late, not being here for Barry.

Bruce let another sigh go, slapping a pair of latex gloves up to his wrist. "It's time to get this tube out of you, Barry." He went to peel the tape off the sleeping boy's face, but paused. He told Diana that she'd best do it, since Barry was immune to her.

Very gradually peeling the tape off with her fingernails, she was eager to get this tube out of him. His behalf would love it.

Bruce muttered an almost silent thank you. With the most fragile grip he's ever used, he started stringing the tube from Barry's nostril. He had to pause a few times, out of worry he'd accidentally turn the curved end around and hurt Barry.

Diana placed an assuring hand on his shoulder. She watched alongside him as the disgusting tube finally slipped out.

"Wait..." Bruce muttered.

"What is it, Bruce?"

He went into the beam of light coming in from the window. He held the tube up, brushing mucus and bile and food away, to inspect a large black clump. It was stuck to the tube by globs of wet yellow pus.


	5. Infirmary, part 2 (Bruce & Barry)

I appreciate those who tried this story, and especially those who have stayed around! This story will be a long one so there is plenty coming for you. Possibly I'll create a series if there are those who don't want to see the Barry whump and Bruce/Barry/Diana end. I'd like to know what you need to see more of. As always, you may gmail me at marthaplayer03 if you aren't comfortable with a public comment. If you have other specific interests or tags that I could incorporate into the story, or subplots or characters, let me know! I don't have many limits to writing, so I'll feel comfortable with really anything as long as I'm capable of writing it. Might you have any requests outside of this story? Let me know. I'd like to fulfill them in my free time.

xx

The sunset started to steal the color from the Batcave. It helped during a time like this, when Bruce couldn't bear to see anything. The gleam of the chemistry lab's pilot light was all he needed. Shadows of the fluorescent light peeking in from the storage room were good for when he needed an excuse to not believe his eyes.

He struggled to grab things with shaky tweezers. The only thing forcing him to sit at his table, assessing this black clump, had been the young man in the bed two rooms over. The infirmary's door was open, allowing Bruce to turn around in his chair and lean to the side and see Barry sleep. Barry was too tired to be fazed by the cannula that had become lopsided, or the pillowcase that had gotten wrinkled underneath his ear.

The clock at the corner of the table told Bruce that Diana wouldn't be back for hours. He'd never realized how far the antiquity museum is from the manor, and how drastic 38 miles could be. Speculating time wouldn't give him any less of it to have to wait through.

His forehead was sweating as much as his gloved hands, which were clammy all down to his wrists. His eyes tried to stay on the NG tube. For once in his whole life, did he not want to delve into an unfaceable issue. He procrastinated by studying the areas that Diana had cleaned bile and phlegm from. Every five minutes, he'd want to turn around.

In place of a sore thumb was a destroyed arm. There were so many questions that Bruce avoided. Diana had everything hidden from him. She wanted to show him what was under the bandages, but she couldn't bring herself to it. All he's seen up to this point was the yellowing infection on Barry's hand, as it swelled upward from his arm. The way Diana'd covered everything thoroughly, despite the infection site being an inch, made Bruce wonder. It made his crazy imagination wonder just how terrible this could be, and how much he was underestimating Barry's illness.

Not talking and not thinking was usually enough for Bruce to avoid feeling anything. This time, silently acting wasn't going to be a thing. Tweezing around at a black mass wasn't being to be enough to support Barry. But Bruce had yet to realize that. Right now, he would be huffing at a gunky tube, waiting for Diana to get back from a curator's assembly so she could tell him what was going to happen next.

The mass was encrusted with what appeared to be ash black mucus. It held onto the tube tighter than fused steel joints. As the tweezers pried through the mucus, pus leaked out like melted butter and stung his wrist at contact. He ripped his gloves off, running to the sink. The heat of the water stream felt like ice over the red spots. The burning worsened and started radiating along both his hands. He whisked his hands from the stream. His breath returned to him as the stinging gradually disappeared.

The water pooled up even higher in the clogged sink, and he'd have to leave it there until he knew how to safely deal with whatever the hell just burned him.

There was a mutter from the other room.

Bruce didn't notice water being dumped on the floor as he shook his hands dry. He was too busy glancing through the doorways. It was a relief to see Barry stretching his half-asleep body, rather than muttering due to pain. Barry had managed to turn himself sideways in his sleep, facing Bruce as he went into the infirmary. Unsure whether he should tread quietly to avoid waking Barry up, or be louder than usual to make his presence known.

Barry's eyes slowly parted. He gazed up at the man, through his eyelashes. His puckered lips pulled into a half smile. "Hi, Bruce..."

Bruce just gleamed at him. He guess he'd wait, having nothing to say and knowing something would come out of Barry's mouth soon enough.

"What's the time?"

"It's near eight." He then responded to the actual question Barry had. "Diana is attending a meeting. Won't be back anytime soon." And he felt terrible for using those words, after he'd already said them. Repeating the last sentence in his mind made him feel like he was being heartless, disconnected, undermining.

With the typical smugness for Bruce, Barry sheepishly held his non-bandaged fist out.

His weak arm was suggesting a fist-bump. The normal Bruce wasn't familiar, but this time he could use it as an opportunity to bond. He touched his fist to Barry's and suppressed his sigh as Barry's fingers trickled away in an explosion.

Bruce asked, "How you feeling, Barry? Long sleep you had there." He grabbed and patted at the boy's shoulder when he conjured up smalltalk.

Barry's sentences turned to yawns. He'd exaggerate the yawns and force more so his brain wouldn't drift away from Bruce. The cheeky smile was only getting bigger and bigger, despite the fact his eyes couldn't stay open to visit with Bruce.

"I'm sorry," Bruce assumed, rubbing at the gray roots of his hair as if he'd comb the right words out. "I meant to be here. It's just... Wayne Enterprises things... you understand?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Yeah..." If _avoiding seeing his - inevitably formed - son figure being eaten by an illness_ was a business project. If _drinking alone in the torn-up den, remembering how he'd failed an orphan boy a decade prior,_ was a business meeting.

Barry's face gave him one more burst of hopeful energy. To smile at him for being here, patting his shoulder and lending him his voice.

"How about we get your temperature?"

It made Barry's eyes open.

The click of a thermometer cover echoed through the Batcave. Bruce told him to open his mouth.

Barry was hesitant, but upon seeing the man he urged to make proud, his mouth drifted open.

"Tongue."

Due to being with him after weeks of not hearing from him, Barry surely didn't want things to become complicated. He let Bruce slide the thermometer in, this time being more considerate than in the ambulance. When Bruce failed to maintain eye contact, Barry made it a point to glance into the distance.

A beep resonated off the walls. Bruce hummed in relief of hearing a single beep without the red alert flashing, which could've been totally possible. "Well, you're looking better."

"I'm feeling considerably better," Barry remarked, with a little forced energy to make Bruce happy.

"99." He looked back at the boy with a smile, as a trade-off for Barry giving him good news to tell Diana.

Before he could suggest Barry go back to sleep, he was looking at a body slumped over. Fluttering eyelashes, mouth fallen open and alternating between drool and steady breaths. Bruce had to admit, at least a small part of him could agree that Diana was right; Barry was sort of precious.

"Goodnight," he told Barry. He moved back to the lab in increments, glancing over his shoulder a few more times than he thought he would.

Falling into his chair, pulling gloves onto his hands, he fished into his stacks of materials. Out came a thin blue case, which opened to reveal scalpels and scissors. He groaned. The only reason he dared to delve for answers was, again, the boy he needed to save.

When he sliced it, the mass poured with pus. He reached for the tweezers to very gently poke the fluid that'd burned him. It only stuck to the points of the tongs and began to dry up. He placed the tweezers in a baggy, with the tightest seal known to earth.

He turned around to look at Barry, but he wasn't in bed.

Bruce flung from his chair and hurried for the infirmary. There was no sight of Barry, in the corners or closets, until he turned back around. Barry was standing along the wall of the lab, painted with shadows.

Barry wouldn't respond to his name. Nor a wave to his face.

Bruce got his arm wrapped at Barry's back. "Let's get back to bed," he tried demanding in the way Diana would, only for it to come out as a gruff mumble.

He noticed Barry's bandaged hand was fisted up at his chest. When Barry realized Bruce was looking at it, he held his arm tighter against him as if he was concealing something in his fist.

He stopped trying to get Barry to walk and he turned Barry to face him. "What are you doing, Barry?"

Barry met his eyes for a split second with the most dead gaze, as his head and eyes fidgeted around. He seemed disoriented and overstimulated simultaneously, and it was confusing as hell to Bruce.

Bruce's eyebrows scrunched, and he tried to suppress it to avoid appearing angry. "Does your hand hurt, Barry?" He put his hands on Barry's shoulders and maneuvered his head down so he could see into Barry's face. "If there's something wrong, you need to..." He froze when it hit him, that everything was already wrong, and there was no way for him to help besides for guessing.

Bruce immediately turned for the worst - or, at least what could've been the worst in that moment. "Barry. Does your chest hurt, Barry? Does it feel tight?"

When he thought Barry wasn't going to respond, Barry's fist struck Bruce's ribcage.

Trying to regain his breath, Bruce grabbed Barry's wrist. Barry's other hand popped him in the gut before he could try grabbing it. Bruce growled and clenched Barry by his jaw.

Bruce opened his mouth to yell for Alfred, but was silenced by Barry's eyes. His whole face was washed up with fear. Glossy eyes, the color pressed from his skin, mind completely seared of everything. Both of them silenced with the reality that Bruce had just tormented the most innocent person he knew. The young man who has needed him and loved him, despite the shit Bruce has put him through, was now having his thin face bones squeezed in Bruce's large hands. The young man he has failed to be here for was now breathlessly, speechlessly accepting his abuse. The fist he'd just bumped with was now having its circulation pressed off.

As Bruce's hand released his jaw, Barry fell towards him and nestled his cheek into the big shoulder. All the pain in Bruce's body dissolved into a need to hug Barry. Bruce has never been up to hug anyone, however now it felt like his arms had brains of their own. Apologies strung from him in order to keep him from shivering in anger towards himself.

Barry left Bruce's hug. He wandered towards the sink, following a trail of water droplets. His feet were inches away from a large puddle, and his hand was ready to dunk into the sink of water.

"Barry!" Bruce yelled. He didn't care how aggressive it sounded; Barry needed to be safe above everything. He lunged into Barry, his grip tight enough to make Barry stumble into him. "You're going back to bed, Barry." His head was pounding too hard for him to feel his voice drop into a growl. "And you're going to stay there."

Barry dropped to his knees. Bruce caught him around the elbows, and his body weight pressed towards the floor. He slipped into unconsciousness.


	6. Infirmary, part 3 (Diana & Barry) (M)

I'm sorry for completely ditching this story and you guys. I have so many problems with borderline and dependent personality disorder and OCD and schizoid and shit like my sensitivity to light. It gets too bad for me to eat or get up. The past few days, I wasn't able to even process my own feelings or think for myself. So I'm sorry if this chapter isn't like the others. I'm just now coming back to earth because I wanted to write this. We'll see from here. xx

This chapter should be one but I broke it in half to give you guys something asap. Warning: boobs and cliffhanger.

* * *

The voices of Diana and Bruce shook Barry awake. The two were in the storage, hoping to cover up Bruce's gruffing and Diana's defensive arguing between parcels. Something about him needing to do something, and her passionately telling him it wasn't ethical. It made his eyes grow a little, to think they were using his name and "unethical" together in a debate that he wasn't allowed to hear.

It's as if she could tell he was awake. She stepped into the infirmary and was at his bedside. "Barry." Her hand rested on his. Her other brushed strands of hair behind her ear. "Can you remember last night?"

Barry squinted one eye. "You mean..."

"After you fell asleep. Do you remember?"

Bruce's took a seat near the door, his ankle crossed to his other knee. He was trying to keep it together. "Yeah. Tell us about last night."

Barry's face dropped in confusion. He looked at Diana, then at Bruce. For once, he didn't have something to say. Probably because of the way Bruce's stern, leeching eyes made his skin itch.

"Ow!" He jerked his hand from Diana's. With a breath, he apologized for how rude it must've been.

Diana was fazed. But not from his sudden movement. She was distraught by the large brown spot below his thumb, right on the bone. His entire wrist was starting to gloss over with brown and purple bruising. Her head shot towards Bruce. The anger stole her words, leaving her mouth agape in shock.

Barry watched her eyebrow furrow, between the glances to his wrist. "What's... going... on?"

"Bruce. How-?"

Both Bruce's feet touched the ground. He was waiting to stand up taller than Diana. "It's more than you think. He-"

She turned away from him and back to Barry. There was a wave of paleness in his gaze that had yet to disappear. "Bruce, he's hurt. It doesn't matter what happens, he cannot be hurt."

Bruce pushed his hair back. The way Diana phrased the situation made it even harder to hear.

Barry's voice cracked. It was a burden to interrupt and ask why his wrist was bruising over.

Bruce raised his voice. "What did you think you were doing, Barry?!"

"Will you stop?" Diana almost yelled. "He doesn't remember!" She lowered her voice to apologize. Going back to stroking Barry's fingers, forcing herself to explain, "Last night, Bruce had to restrain you by your wrists. He told me that-"

Bruce admitted, "I was scared, alright?"

The infirmary went quiet enough to hear white noise coming from the electronics. All eyes were on Bruce; even his own as he stared into his lap.

"I looked back. You weren't in bed. I found you, you wouldn't go back to bed, and you tried attacking me."

Diana's smile reached him from across the room. It was amazing to hear his mind come out of his mouth so freely. He needed it as much as Barry did.

"I don't know." He came back from his lap. "I should've been more easy on you. I was just scared."

Diana grinned Barry's way.

Something stopped Barry from looking at the man he loved. Something made him unable to understand how one of the best people on Earth could be so violent towards him. Grab him by the wrists, probably hard enough to rip the sockets. Force him onto a bed, when he must've had a nightmare or something and just wanted some support. He didn't want to be mad or confused, but right now there wasn't much to do if he wasn't sure how to feel.

Diana was talking to both he and Bruce. "...This is a lot. Barry needs some time to process it."

Bruce agreed. He stood up to slowly leave the infirmary, without a word as to what he was doing. He could still be heard, lingering in the Batcave with other business. Staying far yet close.

The blank stare from Barry was too much for Diana. She kneeled directly to his side. "He is sorry, Barry. He didn't want to hurt you, and he needed to keep you from hurting yourself. He simply didn't know what to do." She stroked through the hair on his empty head. "I promise, he is not mad, and he will be alright so long as you're alright."

He nodded, trying hard to listen.

The nod was enough for her to move onto what she'd originally come for. "Would you like a bath?"

Sarcastically but partly sincerely, "That would be nice." His eyes and mouth widened when he realized she'd be rubbing his naked body.

"You'll feel better having your arms and legs and face clean."

He cringed at the sweat that caked his joints and crannies. "Um, can you wash..."

She raised a brow, waiting.

"...everything?"

"Yes," she said benevolently, "we have as much time as we need. I'd be delighted."

She went for the cabinet to pull out a large duffle bag. Her fingers carefully sifted through. "What would you like to wear after your bath?"

He looked at her as if she had his entire home in there. His toothbrush, sealed in a baggy, and deodorant and rash powder were sticking out of the side pockets. What she believed to be the comfiest clothes were all gracefully rolled and stacked. She was pulling out his bottle of soap and deodorant.

Upon being told what day it was, he said, "Something white or gray. With red, obviously. Warm, because it gets chilly in here."

"Perfect, here." She held a rolled up outfit to her chest, waiting for his approval.

He nodded at how it was all brushing against her breasts.

She placed the clothes onto a table as she rolled it up. She disappeared to change the thermostat to ideal temp, and to draw the curtain in case Bruce or Alfred would open the door. Going through the cabinets, she came out with towels and a basin for water. When everything was prepared on the table, she reclined his bed supine and raised it to her waist level.

"I will use a dry shampoo. Is that alright?" She tucked his pillow down to prop his shoulders and neck. A towel under neath his head.

"Yeah..." He usually didn't feel fresh without actually water and soap, but now he was just desperate to get clean. Even by Diana's means of not making a big water mess.

She hoped he'd soon be in better condition to leave the bed and go to the actual tub. For now, a bed bath would have to do.

He heard her shimmy behind the head of the bed. As she reached to the counter, her soft boob just barely touched his head. His member was already stiff from waking up and the idea of her hands being all over his body. It was pulsing and tightening around the catheter, and her smiling down at him was making it harder and harder. The blanket and catheter bunched up, creating a bulge to hide the one in his pants.

A part of him wanted to call off on her washing "everything". The other part of him was waiting for her hands to move downward. Her hand will be so soft, so generous, so sloppy with passion, grabbing his balls to wash them.

The foam lathered in her hands, with a familiar schlicking. She had his head propped onto the heels of her hands. Fingernails started rubbing the shampoo through the back of his head. The sound of scratching resonated through his skull as she moved out towards his ears. Tingles shot down his spine, through his extremities. It actually made him want to stop thinking about everything and go to sleep.

She graciously swept his bangs into the lather. She lathered longer than necessary to scratch at his pressure points. Her fingers traced behind his ears and along the grooves in his skull. They spread the starchy foam through chunks of hair, soaking up more oil than he's probably ever washed off his scalp.

"Barry, you're being so good."

That sent tingles to his member. He knew what she meant, but it was the manner in which she said it. It proved she was in control, she was assertive. He was a little bitch getting bathed and waiting for a boob to touch his head.

A moan escaped him.

She chuckled. "It's been quite a while since you've last been pampered, I see?"

His whole face eclipsed in a blush. From complete relaxation and mild sexual frustration.

"It's alright, Barry. It's something we all need from time to time."

A few minutes later, her hands left his head. He turned his head to see what she was doing. His eyes widened when he realized his head almost brushed Diana's boob. He turned back forward before she could notice.

He suppressed a moan when she lifted his head up into her boob. She started massaging a rag through his hair to collect the foam. There was nothing to stop him from imagining her breasts getting all moist, her shirt getting thinner than silk, maybe a nipple stiffening from contact. When she tilted his head to towel it, his eyes traveled to her chest to see if her bra or cleavage was visible from being wet.

"Barry."

His member shot up in his pants. It was definitely harder than it's ever been. His lips pursed into a naughty smile and he almost choked. The idea of getting caught being a pervert had always been exciting in ways he couldn't understand. But now, actually being caught and scolded, by a fierce woman who will be gentle no matter what, was unfathomably intense. Drool trickled from the corner of his mouth. He drifted into imagining what Diana would do about it.

"Barry, are you alright?" She was waiting for the blankness to leave his eyes. "Is it alright to wash your body?"

Force him to jerk off in front of her? Demand he suck her feet and tell her how sexy she is? Smack his hard-on, beat it to the edge, give it a teasing lick, then ruin his orgasm? Lock it up so he could never cum again?

Barry then realized what she'd said. She'd finished with his hair and his head was back on his pillow. "Oh.. yeah..."

She smiled. "You spaced out. As long as you're alright."

He needed to stop. There was no way she didn't see the raging bulge. She was pretending it wasn't there, for his modesty.

She placed a bunch of towels at his side, before rolling his blanket off his body. "Can I remove your shirt?" With approval, she rolled the bottom of his shirt as high as she could.

He raised his shoulders so she could maneuver his arms out of the sleeves.

"Good, Barry. Thank you." Her smile was unintentionally condescending. It made his member twitch, after what she'd said earlier.

With the shirt scrunched up at his neck, she told him she'd be taking it off. She slid it out from the back of his neck and was careful to not graze it on his face.

His vision went black for a moment. A foggy black. All he could see was an object clinging to his neck and face. The heat from a hand was clogging his nose.

Her hand felt the tensing of his neck. His blood pressure was heightening a little. Once she had the shirt off, she took extra time when she folded it. She watched him in the corner of her eyes.

He stammered, "I'm fine... I'm fine. Just..."

She let his breath come back to him. Her hand touched his and her eyes searched deep into his. "I'm sorry, Barry. I went too quickly and I'll be more gentle."

"No, it's fine... I'm fine. I just spaced out, and thought I saw a bug."

Diana knew he was lying. His eyes, his cracking high pitched words, and his demeanor all said he was lying. But she accepted what he wanted her to think. "Okay. If you're sure you're alright, I'll continue, and I'll be more gentle."

Barry looked away then back at her.

"I'm going to put a towel on one side. Would you like me to start on a certain side?"

He naturally shrugged the arm furthest away from her. Before he realized she would have to reach over to wash that side.

"Perfect." She laid a towel over the side she wouldn't be washing, to keep him warm and modest. "And I will use a towel underneath you to keep your bed dry." Reaching over him, she tucked a bigger towel below his arm and torso.

He silently watched her breasts bounce. Sometimes brushing him, sometimes being a centimeter away from doing so.

She rolled the table closer. Her finger tested the water, which was once boiling hot and was now perfect. She slowly ran a wet rag along his arm, gently approached his shoulder then his torso.

"N-N-Not too much soap," he demanded. His voice dropped in volume. "I don't like excess of soap. Because it gets-" he was too fatigued to gesture his hands so his face did the talking, "-all sticky and gummy when it isn't rinsed off right. And then the towel and my clothes get..."

Diana nodded in agreement. "How about we do... a little drop?" She'd poured an apple seed sized drop of soap into the cloth. For his upper body, then she'd see from there.

She reached over to start gently washing. His eyes washed with anticipation. Being at waist level, it was just a matter of time for her bouncing boobs to rub his bare skin. She lifted his arm to wash. For a whole minute, her boob would be planted on him.

His free hand reached for her boob.


	7. Infirmary, part 3 - 2

She felt a heavy touch on her breast. She stopped in shock.

He gasped, pulling his hand away. He didn't have to play it off as an accident, because he truly was shocked. He couldn't believe his hand did that. His hand tingled in guilt as if it wasn't part of his body. It was one thing to think, and look - but to touch was never an option. "I'm sorry, Diana- I'm so sorry-"

She was calm. Breathing steady to keep him breathing steady. "Accidents happen." It was genuine. The compassionate woman thought his hand was barging around being picky or fidgety, and accidentally touched her. It wasn't a problem.

His tongue prodded in his cheek. Despite the confusion, his member was ready to burst. Her boob was much, much softer than advertised. It tickled the taste buds of his hand, and his mouth wanted some. They weren't the biggest he's seen, but definitely the fullest, perkiest, most tender. Especially belonging to a woman who took care of herself, was confident in her body, and had the capacity to understand being needed. He wondered how big her nipples were. They must've been softer and more indulgent than anything in the galaxy. For being a goddess from a land of century-old women, have her nipples ever gotten sucked on? It killed him to think he'd probably touched her nipple, how he would never know for sure.

As she went to wash his chest, she commented on how it was slightly red. She tried to be gentle drying it. "Would you like some powder on your chest? I brought your powder."

He was going to ask why. But now that he thought about it, he realized his chest was a little irritated. A very slight itch, a light tickle that came every few minutes. Tongue still in cheek, he said yes.

She uncovered his whole chest. Her hand started massaging powder everywhere, getting beyond the red blotch, even treating his neck. The smoothness of her palm made the white specks feel like hard crumbs. She pressed so firmly and lovingly and it made his mouth water.

The minty-acidy smell of the powder was usually enough to start draining his erection. This time it wasn't. Never has he needed anything more than to feel that firm touch on his erection.

"I know I should finish your upper body, but it would be best to wait until I change these bandages." And drizzle her antibiotic, warm, gushy saliva all over it again. Only if she could stop using it on his arm and start using it to treat the swelling in his pants.

She reached over for the further arm. She guided it up so she could roll deodorant on his armpit. The fact she committed to starting on that specific side made her even more endearing and trustworthy.

Diana rubbed his shoulder. "I need to turn you over. Is that alright?"

He complied. He tried to shift his legs to fetal position and turn his shoulder.

"Good, Barry, thank you!" Her hand guided his hip and back into fetal position. After tucking a towel under, she dipped the cloth into the basin for more warm lather. Since he couldn't see her and was blankly staring at a row of counters, she guided him through what her hand was doing. "Let's get your back all clean. Starting on the one side... and down..." Fingernails and flesh of her hand kneading through the cloth. "And back up to your neck..."

"You're doing a great job, Barry."

The opposite of goosebumps crawled up his back. Warm chills? Warm chill tingles. They started buzzing in his spine, and to the rest of his body like the tingles he previously got. Perhaps he could stay ill forever. Showering - and anything without Diana - was overrated.

She rubbed the towel down his back. "I have your sweater. Is that still alright?" She presented a slim black sweater. "BLACKPINK" on the front in gray, "JENNIE 96" in red on the back.

"Yeah."

After curling his arms up where the sweater would be, she delicately rolled it up to slide it over his head.

A rough object swarmed with static, grazing on his face. It cinched around his neck and took his breath away. His vision fogged over with red, then a dizzy black. If it didn't paralyze him in shock, he would've screamed and tore it to shreds. Ringing resonated through his head, louder and louder.

Suddenly everything was fine. He was breathing normally, in fetal position with Diana hovered over, swaddled into the torso of a sweater.

She helped him move his nonbandaged arm into the sleeve. Her other hand was in the wrist of the sleeve, waiting to pull his hand through. She helped him roll onto his back.

His bandaged hand was pressed to his chest. She asked him to move it. When he didn't comply, she gently grabbed it and guided it into its sleeve. She adjusted the collar and pulled the torso down snugly over him.

Diana moved his blanket from his legs. His tight pants made his bulge very obvious. The look on her face made it obvious to him that she noticed.

She actually found his flustering a little cute and comic. "No worries, Barry, it's natural." Her mind flashed back to standing in front of a nude Steve Trevor. How the man had washed over in humility, hurrying to cover his stiffening organ. And how Bruce had held the sheets tight to his nude body when she once came to wake him up. "I can wash there later, when you feel decent."

Her decision was set, even though it was said as a proposition. What was he supposed to do, argue with her? Insist a nasty situation upon a kind, considerate person? His voice went high as it said, "No... No, it's okay. I wouldn't want you to worry about it later."

"Barry, I understand."

Or, she thought she did.

"Actually..." She studied his face. It wasn't only flustered over, it was blank. His eyes glossed over with a slightly dead look. His mouth was parted, as if he was about to say something but constantly lost the words. The bandaged hand held the chest of his shirt, like someone would do when choking or sweating. She could almost feel him spinning in the still room. "We can finish your bath later. When you're feeling better, I will come back to wash your face and lower." She could also check his bag and give him a bedpan after getting some more food in him.

He sighed. He had to accept what Diana wanted to do. For once her generosity was a bad thing, however she was doing the right thing.

She lightly scratched his shoulder and arm. "I can check how you're feeling later."

She left to draw the curtain back and open up the room.

"Yeah..." His voice lowered. "Thank you." Glancing to the door then back her way. He prayed she would at least leave the room, to let him take care of himself. Hoped maybe she'd give him a tad more to go off of.

The wish was granted when Diana leaned over. With a soft hand to his cheekbone, her lips puckered up to kiss his forehead.

He giggled as if it'd tickled. Because it technically did...

She chuckled. Another kiss to his forehead endearingly, and a playful one to his cheek.

The member in his pants swelled, but so did his smile. It was genuinely precious and arousing, how she was smiling because of his smile.

Now lowering his bed and inclining him to sitting position, she asked if he was getting hungry. His eyes lighting up made her laugh. "Alfred will be preparing lunch early today. You seem to be doing much better. If you're able to wait, I will have a dessert for you."

His mouth should be watering at the mention of candy or pie or cake or whatever fancy dulce cobbler brule that Alfred would put a cherry on. His pants were too tight right now. The fact Diana knew about it was really hot. Especially her not doing anything about it. Initially he wanted to feel her, but now the tease was adding to the fun. It was better than too much fun too quickly.

It was as if Alfred heard his cue. The man's head peered into the door. Once he noticed a dressed Barry, he was welcome in. "I thought you would enjoy a telly, Master Bart." With Diana's assistance, he rolled in a television set. "Since Master Bruce says you will be here quite a while."

Diana smiled. "Thank you, Alfred." She took the set from there.

With a thank you from Barry, Alfred said, "It isn't a problem. You're free to use the call button for anything."

Diana handed Barry a remote for the television, before she pulled up a small device that was corded to the side of the bed. He watched her place it near his hip as she explained what the buttons did. One for signaling requests, two that could let them know he was falling asleep or waking up, and one for emergencies.

Alfred asked, "Are we done here, madam?" He would clean up the clutter from Barry's bath, to help relieve Diana's efforts.

Diana covered Barry up, the blanket tucked under his torso and armpits. Her hand held the remote with his hand. His eyes could barely focus on the words. His thumb wandered aimlessly, trying to press random buttons but too weak to.

Alfred's voice said from the sink, "If the telly isn't working, I suggest you try turning it on."

She giggled. She looked at the man, catching him midst cleaning up her mess. "Alfred, go take some personal time. Tonight will be busy for you. I'll manage things here."

Barry looked at Diana. Anxiety started to sprout in his eyes. "Busy with what? What's going on?"

Her voice lowered back to her special gentle Barry tone. "There is an event in the manor tonight. People will be over, but not more than a hundred, and they will not bother you."

He sighed. They had better not.

Alfred sighed on his own. Seeing Barry and Diana served as a reminder that Bruce wasn't there. Bruce most likely wouldn't be there that day. Doing what Bruce does best: obsessing over things and delving into self-created problems, overlooking the real things right under his nose. The way Bruce had vented to him the other day basically translated into Bruce deciding to avoid things until he was involved again.

Diana's free hand scratched through Barry's hair, to keep him calm again. She looked back at the remote, semi in her other hand and semi in his confused hand. "Let's turn it on." She patiently watched his thumb drift to the standby button. Her thumb pressed his thumb into the button.

"Look, Barry," she cooed, pulling up the TV guide, "it's one of your favorite shows. Do you want to watch Rick and Morty?"

He snatched the remote away from her grip. He looked around to see which button his thumb should press. Spitting and muttering to himself.

"Barry," she said quietly. She squeezed his shoulder. "You can't be violent. I want to help you. You have to be calm for me, and we'll figure it out together." Comfortingly but disciplining, "Do you want to watch it?" The 'or not?' would be passively left out.

Alfred wrapped up the laundry bag. Not saying a word, simply listening and being amused over Diana handling the young man.

Barry dropped the remote in truce.

She placed it back in his hand, lightly holding it herself. She pulled up a chair so she could get at his level. "You can hold it, but you'll have to share with me."

His eyes got lost into hers. They had a touch of submission and slight shame.

"Oh, Barry." She wrapped her arm around his back and pulled him into a cuddle. Assured him, "It's alright."

His head rested upon her shoulder.

"Things are crazy right now, definitely for you. The most we can do, as of this moment, is to get comfortable." She gave him a kiss and lightly rested her head against his. "So you want to watch Rick and Morty?"

His breath suddenly fatigued. She understood his attempt to say yes.

"Almost two hours of it. We can watch it together." She snuggled him harder, smiling as all the pressure and tension melted from him.


	8. Infirmary, part 4 (MommyDiana)

"Barry."

He wandered aimlessly, dragging his socks on what felt like wet tile. His eyes tried to filter through black fog but there was nothing to see.

"We need to talk."

Oh God. That's certainly one of the scariest things a person could say. He'd rather follow the fog to find himself in a giant blaze. And for a person who's afraid of both fire and the water needed to save him, that's saying quite a bit.

"What are you doing, Barry?"

He stopped. His knees were trembling too hard to support him.

A face conjured out of the fog. He wanted to recognize it, he swore he could tell where he's seen it, but he couldn't. Despite its anger, it was slightly cheeky with rosebud lips. The twinkle in its eyes were very easy on his eyes, and very hard on his heart.

Diana's voice broke through, saying his name.

The face gleamed. "Who is that?"

His throat was voiceless, his chest beatless, but he wasn't fearless.

"I thought you cared about me, Barry?"

"Barry."

"Barry?"

"Barry."

 _"Barry."_

His face scrunched, before his eyes fluttered open. His head was on Diana's shoulders, with her head loyally cuddled onto his. She was grasping his hand, massaging his fingers.

She felt badly about having to raise her voice to wake him up, but she couldn't bear to watch his heavy breathing and twitching.

He dipped his face. It was hard to remember what even startled him. It was just confusing, no one certain way to feel.

Diana cuddled him tighter. She knew he had nothing to say, though she asked if he needed to talk.

He pulled out of the cuddle. His hand hurried to his bandaged arm. He started roughly grazing it, to irritate the wounds underneath. The most aggressive grip he could conjure, around his wrist. Trying to break the wounds open and stretch the scars, since he wasn't able to create more of them. He moaned at the searing pain and the feeling of adrenaline kicking into his blood.

"No, no, Barry..." Her hand intervened, her fingers interlocking with his. "Squeeze my hand."

Glossiness eclipsed his eyes. The black swirls were coming back, the life in his eyes fighting for control. Diana was fighting for control as well, to not let his pain get the best of her. His arm was thrusting, desperate to rip his hand free. She held onto his hand even tighter and her other arm wrapped over his arm.

"No."

"Barry, don't tell me no."

Barry choked another 'no'.

She prompted him to lean in and put his head back on her shoulder. Rubbing the fury from his hand.

He sulked. Cheeks sullen, eyes and chin quivering. Staring at the TV, studying the colors and flamboyant movement of a shampoo commercial. Then cartoon fruit and oat people bouncing around in an abstract world, being announced as "part of a healthy and nutritious whole grain breakfast." It didn't help that Diana had turned the volume down after he'd fallen asleep. It's as if she knew that he would use the television to ignore her.

She found the remote and turned the television off. "Please don't tell me no. I want to help you. I worry about you. If you tell me no or become violent, I can't help."

A miserable breath escaped him. "I do..."

His eyes drifted shut to see the face again. He did care... He cared.

Diana's voice went softer. "You do what, Barry?"

"Diana..." It was Diana. The voice was Diana.

She pressed her cheek to his head as a cushion. "Yes, sweetheart, I'm here."

He started to thrash. Feet kicking up and down the bed. Enclosed fist jerking around, now wanting to hold his chest. Muttering random phrases between hiccups, which Diana was starting to understand. The face was burnt into his mind, with its shining eyes burning into his heart. His chest was physically aching, his throat being overcome with a very dull sizzling pain.

"Barry, sweetheart..." Diana squeezed endearingly and she demanded, "Stop."

With his head lashing backwards, his body started splaying onto her. His head and shoulders were in her lap. One of her arms was around his torso, holding him down.

"Barry, stop."

She managed to cross both of his fists against his chest. Her free hand fiercely rubbing through his hair to stop his head from lashing.

He bent his knees up, planting his feet to the bed. The energy from his legs shot up into his arms, but it wasn't enough to break Diana's hold.

"Stop." Her thumb massaged deep into his skin. "It's alright. Calm down." His blood pressure was chattering again and it was hard for her to stay soft.

His eyes wouldn't comply to her attempts of eye contact. The blackening orbs gave her only a glance, unintentionally, as they scrolled around her upper body. Hiccups shot from his lungs.

He caught his breath. The color came back to his eyes. They looked into hers, shallowly due to how fatigued he was.

She reached her hand from his hair down to his cheek. Lightly stroking his jawline, she demanded, "Tell me about your dream. What's wrong."

"I-I don't remember." A part of him did, but the part of him that controlled speaking didn't.

"Barry, please tell me something. Anything." She gave him a moment. She'd stop stroking his cheek and massaging him until he gave her a reply.

"...Uh." Blood rushed to his face along with the sweat. As he came back, his eyes started getting deeper into hers. The colors of her face - the pale rose of her lips, the curves in her cheeks, and her enlightening ash eyes - burned into his brain. Her voice, its hushes and coos, and her breathing, broke through a gate in his memory. "I remember you... were there..."

Her head turned in listening mode. She began stroking him again.

"Well, you weren't there. But..." It rang around in his head. "I heard you. Maybe I saw your face."

"Can you tell me what else you saw?" She stopped stroking.

He closed his eyes. His imagination traveled back. "I know... I was lost. Somewhere."

"You were scared. Were you angry?" Voice lowering, because she hated to ask. "Did somebody hurt you?"

Shapes and colors bounced under his eyelids. They slowly distorted into an understimulating nothing as if his eyes were being scraped from the sockets. Any light that soaked through would melt into a fog. His throat tensed as if his Adam's apple slid down and set on fire. "I..." His head trembled, as he struggled to remember how to open his eyes. "I-I don't know."

Her lips gave a mild peck to his forehead. Barry was getting warm again.

"I'm sorry, I don't know. I recall less and less of it every time I try."

Diana glanced over at the counter, to her purse. Where an obedience lasso was tucked away, and was ready to have his name on it anytime. She looked back down to find his eyes open. "Alright. If you remember, you can tell me."

His gaze distanced from hers. His head turned, facing her knee. Nothing came out when he sighed.

"No, no, Barry," she cooed. "Here." Diana guided him towards her. She moved to eliminate the gap between her and the bed, and pulled more of his body onto her lap.

Curled up, facing her, was the warmest he's ever felt. Not only because of the snuggling, but because of Diana. A natural incubation, had him convinced she could make a garden bloom in the arctic, really. The radiance made him fuzzy, as her arms wrapped around his back and cradled his head. One cheek nestled to her breast, he looked up at her.

She was smiling. His blood pressure and temperature began neutralizing. He could breathe steadily again; his pulse and breathing had adopted her pattern. This was very-well, very-longly needed.

He cuddled into her breast and lap tighter. Body weight sinking into her warmth, all his voluntary muscles tingling.

She told him, in a lullaby voice, "It's alright, Barry. You lashed out, which I was unhappy about, but it's alright. It's easy to be upset, or angry, and scared."

His wrists crossed tighter underneath her breasts. A goddess heartbeat ran through her ribcage, as well as the vibrations of her voice.

"It was only a dream. Whatever hurt you then cannot really hurt you." Or, she hoped.

"You know what dreams are, Barry?" She began to preach about the human mind. Different realms of a person; how one's spirit and environment and position can affect hopes and fears; how the realms of a person are projected through feelings and dreams. The astrology of dreams, the symbols and spiritual positions that surface in dreams. Why people dream, and that it's alright to be fearful or curious about one's dream.

Barry took a moment to absorb, before he quietly asked, "How do I know who it was?"

"What do you mean?"

The lack of energy and large doses of oxytocin made him slur, "I saw a face... I think... A person... It was dark. I wandered around, and there was a woman. Not you... I either couldn't recognize her, or... Not you. Not... Either I couldn't recognize, or I can't recall enough to know who."

She was going to prompt him to think, but she bit her tongue to let his ramble flow.

"It just... It's... I can't."

"Alright. When more comes, you can tell me."

Alfred's voice teased from the doorway, "Might I get you a better room?" He presented a cart, with a plethora of lunch and napkins.

Letting out a chuckle, Diana glanced at the food then to Barry. "You must be starving."

Barry turned to look at the cart, with a watering mouth.

Alfred's eyes were on Barry, whose cheek was red from being pressed to Diana's breast. Obviously not referring to the mashed potatoes from before, he said, "I was thinking you'd like something else. A larger, more solid, and appropriate meal."

Diana smiled. She didn't get the quip, she was happy that he'd gone through the trouble for Barry to eat. "Thank you, Alfred."

The saint handled the cart and retrieved the overbed table while Diana resituated Barry into bed. He said to Diana, "And hopefully we'll see you grabbing a bite?"

"Barry really should get some food." She tucked the blanket into Barry's underarms. "I will wait until the dinner tonight."

Alfred sighed, suppressing the need to feed her. "You're welcome to come by the kitchen before then."

She thanked him. She helped unload the cart onto the table.

Barry grimaced when a large protein shake made its way onto the table. The taste of it immediately came back to him.

Diana named off items as they appeared. Mashed red potatoes, creamed spinach, cranberry waldorf, with a side of noodle soup, milk, and water. And an unnamed item, hidden under a lid, emitting a very faint confectionery scent. Leverage she'd use to get him to cooperate.


	9. Barry's crazy, she not having any of it

This chapter will be all over the place. Warnings.

Another two-parter-ish because I can't get off my ass.

* * *

Diana wiped the potato from his face, which had gained its color. She smiled watching him eye the dessert dish. "I know what you want..."

He was getting full. His belly was bloated when she rubbed his belly to elicit a burp. "You did a good job, Barry." The large plate was running out of food for the spoon to pick up, the soup and milk glass filled with only drops. The Ensure being half full, though half empty. Creamed spinach took some coaxing, until he realized how sweet it was. Passive reminders towards the dessert were mostly keeping him in check.

She took a wet wipe to his fingers. They were slathered in yogurt and broth. From the few times he would reach over and play with the food while she was trying to feed him.

"Let's try to finish your Ensure. At least ten drinks." Then dessert.

That's fair, he thought. He parted his mouth and waited.

"Do you want to feed yourself? Here." She put the Ensure to his lips. With one hand supporting the bottom of it, and the other hand guiding his hand onto the drink. His shaky hand was weak down to his elbow, so his fingers merely rested around the drink. His brain was too mushy to process that she was the one feeding him, and that he was just touching. She subtly tilted the bottom up and down, counting each swallow.

When his fingers tried resting the drink, she took it away. "Are you done?" She placed it out of his spillable reach, with a few drinks to spare if he got thirsty. "Very great job, Barry."

She revealed the largest slice of custard cake, or the first slice, he's ever seen. Drizzled over in blackberry jam. The piles of cool whip were sugar clouds. They tapered off at the top like fluffy ice cream. His hand reached over for it, but ended up tapping the platter underneath it. Diana hadn't moved it close enough for him to smash with his fingers, like he'd done with the cranberries.

With a chuckle, she scraped a dollop of cool whip off the plate and fed it to him. Much to his frustration, it melted in his mouth before he could chew it. She had to coax him to open his mouth for a bite of solid cake.

Barry's eyes rolled to the back of his head. Without swallowing, he opened for another bite. It was a mouth full of orgasm, the sugar sliding down his throat and coating his entire tract. A small moan escaped him. It's something he hasn't had in days, maybe almost two weeks, because of the knots in his stomach.

Diana was generous and gave him slightly bigger bites. After a few bites, it was too much. As he tried swallowing, his jaw tightened and the bite came up from his throat. His head dipped down, wanting to spit the bite out. She held his napkin bib up and waited to catch the custard, while scooping up saliva that ran down his chin. His appetite made him too stubborn to open his mouth. "I have the napkin," Diana said, brushing it against his mouth, "it's alright."

She caught the bite and folded the napkin aside for laundry. Rubbing his chest, she cooed, "What happened? What's wrong?" Her opposite hand played with his hair. It felt dreadful seeing him have such a hard time - for no apparent reason. His body seemed to not want something he was really enjoying.

After the rosiness left his cheeks, she suggested, "Do you want to try again?"

She folded a smaller napkin up to hold it under his face, since he'd be done eating soon. He was able to take some small bites, with some time between. His jaw was getting weak again, so she guided, "Chew very well. Chew... chew... chew... chew."

His full mouth smiled. "Like a train!" When he opened for another bite, his hand reached out for the spoon. His fingers tried grabbing cake off the spoon, until Diana pulled the spoon away.

"No, Barry." She maneuvered past his hand to put the spoon in his mouth.

"Do you want to feed yourself? Here..." Diana took the napkin and tucked it into his shirt. When wiping his fingers clean, she positioned his hand onto the spoon. "Here."

Unbeknownst to him, she was the one moving the food towards his mouth. He curled his feet keenly.

She took the spoon to scoop another bite, then gave it back to him. After a few bites, he let her start to feed him again.

His arm moved under the table. Though focused on feeding him, her eyes were peeled as to what his arm was up to.

"Barry." Putting the spoon down, she gently grabbed under the table. His hand was petting and groping. His breathing getting sharper, until she pulled his hand away. She told him, suppressing hysterical laughter, "Barry, sweetie, it's time to eat right now." She hated herself for having to do it. And she personally couldn't blame him. From what she understood about man's testosterone sex drive, she imagined it being much harder to control, and being stiff too much must've gotten painful. He's had many erections and his precum was starting to stick to the foley tube, but he hasn't had a chance to relieve it in at least a week. "It's not appropriate to touch yourself when you're not alone. Please do it later when you're alone." It felt bad for her to hold his hand up on his belly; he was probably just trying to take the edge off.

He completely disregarded it. She took it as slight humiliation and moved on.

"Chew... chew... like a train," he spoke in a wispy tone.

"Yes, Barry, chew well."

His fingers wiggled under her hand. He managed to slip his hand out from hers.

To divert him from a possible masturbation impulse, she asked, "You want to feed yourself?"

He clasped his fingers around the spoon as she brought it to his mouth.

"Hold the spoon," she said, as a passive way to keep his hand from touching himself. "Nice job, Barry." His hand, especially his thumb, were gaining coordination again. It was his hand guiding hers and the spoon to his mouth.

Barry let her take the spoon back. Diana placed it on the plate to take a break when he dropped his head and pressed his hand to his rib. She gave a small scratch to his stiffening shoulder. then moved to his belly. "Do you have gas?"

A light ache ran from his throat to his ribcage. A twinging, pulsing, crawling feeling, if he paid enough attention. He didn't have a name for it until she asked if it was gas. However it didn't resemble any gas he's ever had, it easily could've been heartburn from a new sugary food.

She patted the rib he was holding, in between kneading circles on his belly. Chalked it up to feeding himself at a pace he wasn't adjusted to anymore. There didn't seem to be food caught, he was swallowing comfortably.

He let out a long burp. Black jam came up onto his chin and the napkin.

"Glad we had this," she whispered, cleaning his chin with a clean part of the napkin.

"Glad we had it," he repeated. His head came up for another bite.

"Halfway done." She gave the next bite a little slower.

His full mouth rambled about the berries and the sticky of the jam and the fine china she fed him from. He gulped the solid bite.

She put the spoon down to threaten no more bites. "No, you need to chew it first."

Jam trailed from his throat. Poured out over his lip. He stopped talking in order to open for another bite.

Diana put a bite near his face and stopped. The control would get him to listen. She locked her eyes onto his. "Barry, you need to chew before you swallow. You cannot speak with your mouth full. It is rude. It's dangerous, mostly now since you're weak, you can choke and you're swallowing more air. If you have something to say, I will wait and listen."

A dirty, pouty look splayed on his face.

She raised her eyebrows and firmly said his name.

The pouting melted off his face. Her eyebrows lowered. When his lips pouted again, her eyebrow went back up.

His face relaxed and his mouth dropped open.

"Are you going to chew?" Her brow was still up. "Chew chew?" The bite came closer to his mouth. "You won't talk when you're supposed to be chewing?" Partially a question, partially a command.

She fed him the bite. Didn't scoop up another one until he swallowed. She waited for him to properly eat a few bites, then praised him.

His submission couldn't keep the pouting away. The look spread over his face, and her eyebrow would stay up.

"The pouting won't change anything, young man."

His face erased clean except an open mouth.

"That's what I thought, Barry."


	10. bedpan

Chapter name is your only warning, folks.

* * *

She stacked the mess onto the large tray so she could free him from the table. Before he could smear food on his clothes, she took a few wet wipes to him. Keeping a fresh bib on him, in case more jam were to come up.

A grumble rang in his belly. The potatoes from yesterday were probably ready to come out as the new food slowly processed. Since Diana would be leaving Barry to take the tray to Alfred, she asked Barry, "Would you like to try using your bedpan?" She disappeared with the table.

His call button was tucked near his waist. He turned to see her pulling out a drawer, then a cabinet. On the table was a bedpan - a shallow metal bowl with a blue plastic seat and handle, a towel, some shea wipes, and a catheter bag and a basin. A disinfectant wipe was out so he could witness her cleaning the seat.

When asked if he preferred Alfred or Bruce instead, he muttered, "You're completely fine."

"Would you like me to put a show on, Barry?" Her hand fished around near his butt and the bed pocket. Switching TV channels with the remote, she stopped on a random movie. It was entertainment and sound, but not enough to distract him from doing the do. She reclined his bed, his head up just enough to see the movie.

She worked the blanket untucked and rolled it off. It was replaced by the towel, which was bunched up at his waist. Her fingers very gently undid his jeans. His jeans and boxers gradually went to his ankles.

The tube held his hard-on to the side, and the head barely prodded the thick towel. Diana tugged the tube when untaping his catheter bag. It was getting lukewarm, filled a few ounces away from capacity. The golden stream in the tube had a silvery tint, the same tint that made the gold bag look foggy, but she'd never seen urine in a bag before to know it wasn't shadow.

A sudden chill tapped his leg. It was the emesis basin, to catch the stream as she disconnected the bag. The basin went back to the table to collect used wipes.

He realized she's been cooing to him. Talking him through peri care. She very carefully followed the lines from the previous tape, in case his OCD would want it in the same place as the old bag.

His knees went in the air. Her warm hand was holding his bare butt, heeding his balls from under the towel. The bedpan came closer, as she let it warm up to his body temp. She lowered his butt onto the seat. Laid his legs down with the towel to his knees.

She prayed it wouldn't take him too long. The bedpan wasn't very ideal, specifically for how bony his butt was when seated. Regardless of the fact he was mesmerized by the dramatic fight on the TV.

Scratching his shoulder, and moving the table from his reach, she said, "I'll be going upstairs to the kitchen. When you need me, press your button." And hopefully he'd do other things he needed to, with the curtain shut.

He couldn't believe he'd wanted her to leave earlier. Now his wish was being granted and he didn't want it. The door closed from behind the curtain.

His thumb smashed the call button. Her voice said through the door, "Give it some time. I will be back in less than ten minutes."

He hated himself for not hearing her speak to him as she was doing his peri care. How did he not hear her? How was she not important to him?

Staring through the curtain, or trying to, and imagining the door coming open. The clock on the wall had the slowest second hand on earth, one tick per two of his breaths - and he convinced himself the clock was running out of batteries, or he at least tried to.

With a sigh, he started doing what she'd wanted him to be doing. His pelvis bones planted to the seat. Poop rumbled around inside his rectum, and the way his flatulence echoed in the bowl made him realize how quiet the room was.

A curdy river started. Even past the commotion in the bowl, Barry could still hear the absence of Diana's footsteps. Not to mention her bold satin voice, her warm touch on his shoulder. He was missing her. If there was something wrong or right going on here, she was missing it. There was no way for him to convey to her. No way to share the television show or this intimate moment with her. And if there was something bad or good with her, she wouldn't be there for him to know. She could've been doing anything, and here Barry was knowing next to nothing. The only thing he was left with was the buzzing of a minifridge, the bold trickling of feces, women's voices on TV, and occasional beeping from medical equipment - his mind burrowed into them, trying to find anything that sounded like Diana.

He rested for a few seconds, before pushing a solid poop through his sphincter.

What was his problem? Four minutes had gone by. He was probably going to be done after a couple pushes. Diana was a woman of her word; "less than ten minutes" was set in stone. Any moment, besides for the call button, she would be coming back in. What was wrong with him, that he couldn't even release waste without approval and comfort?

Trying to hold back a tear, he took turns between the curtain and the clock. Everything was wrong. But he didn't care. It wasn't about him and berating his anxiety wouldn't accomplish anything.

Dammit, it was going to take more than a couple pushes. This poop was a little harder, like a big clump of rabbit drops that accumulated and hardened up.

Tears welled up outside his eyelids and started falling down his cheeks. With his luck, she would come and have to leave again.

Barry could feel the wetness of his diarrhea coating his rectum. Maybe it'd help the process. It had better help.

He cursed himself for relaxing. The stool regressed.

The door opened. Her heaven of a voice asked, "Barry, are you finished?"

Barry wiped his tears off. He couldn't miss getting a clear shot of her face, whenever it'd appear. He tried to sigh a yes, but it came out as a grunt.

She could feel a wave of pain coming from the other side of the curtain. "Are you having trouble, Barry?"

The curtain slowly drifted like a river. Diana came in. "Is it alright for me to help?"

He wasn't sure how she'd help, but he'd give her permission. If it gave her a reason to stay, and maybe touch him.

His bed was lowering, and she was at his side. She had a quiet voice, as to not intrude. "Let's lay you down straight."

His eyes followed her as she left his side. He watched her ponytail bob around as she scrubbed her hands at the sink. Even getting the nothing out of her nails, just for his sake. She brought a basin to the bed, with a glove and lube packet.

"Would you like to bend your knees up?" As he worked his knees, she guided his feet back, holding the towel in place. "Good job, Barry." She repositioned the bedpan.

He blushed, more on the inside than the outside. His erection had gone down but it was considering coming back.

She chuckled, "It's alright to need help. I'll be gentle."

He stared into her eyes and nodded when she asked if he was comfortable.

Diana carefully pulled the glove on, and started warming the lube packet in her hand. She gave eye contact while explaining, "Alright, Barry. I have a glove on, sterile for both of us. I'm going to try digital stimulation where I will use my finger to help your stool come out."

"Okay," he drawled. It was even weirder out loud than in his head. But he could not be upset. It was intimate attention from her.

She broke eye contact for his modesty. His eyes stayed to hers, urging more contact.

Her lubed finger ran along the outside, to relax his anus. It took everything for him to not moan when she peered her finger in. It wasn't just sexual, it was intimate and it was personal and it was Diana and it felt good both emotionally and physically, and how careful and sweet she was being. Her finger started slow to spread the lube and familiarize him with the feel of a finger. It made him want to push.

"Not too hard," she reminded.

He could feel his sphincter straining, though the poop was starting to come back.

As she felt it herself, she went deeper in. When he'd stop pushing, her finger ran circles around to push for him.

His toes curled. Barry tried hard not to clench his hole around her finger. Though he knew she'd understand, he had a compulsive need to avoid displeasing her.

She asked, "Does it hurt?"

"No." It was actually feeling good, with the stimulation and the fact this hard stool was coming out.

Her finger prodded lightly. The chunk of stool was making its way out of the sphincter, she could feel it on her knuckle. The stool was rough, hard as a boulder, and came with a thick layer of mucus.

"I'll assume you've been constipated. You should be drinking more water, for all the food you eat."

Barry pushed harder. Diana's hand was on his belly to relax him a little but her finger made him want to push.

The poop wasn't as large as it seemed. Diana had much experience helping people with health and even plumbing incidents, however she was shocked by how thick and hard of a stool he was trying to pass. She was scared to hurt him but she couldn't blame him for pushing hard enough to crap his guts out.

A huge sigh came from him as he sunk into the bed and closed his eyes. Diana's finger was out of him. The stool had gotten through his sphincter and was bulging in his rectum. She gave him a moment of mercy, rubbing his belly.

When he had the energy to open his eyes, they went back to her. She was changing her glove, uncomfortable with reentering with a filthy glove. The old one was inside out on the basin. She hadn't even looked at it before folding the wrist shut. The finger of it was coated in a yellow mucus and what appeared to be brown or black chunks.

"Are you ready to push again?" She slowly slid her fingertip into his anus, to open it up. Her other hand held his cheeks back to help spread.

He was hesitant. Was she absolutely sure? There was no way he'd do this without pooping on her hand. Not regarding the glove between her skin and the poop.

She massaged around, to make him want to push. "It's alright, Barry. Get it out."

It took only a few pushes, with her guiding it out. He sunk back into the bed. He was comforted by the sound of the stool finally hitting the bowl, and her pulling the pack of wipes open. She very gently brushed a wipe along his butt to collect diarrhea. The wipe felt smooth, he didn't even care that it was cold on his bare skin.

She smiled. "These wipes have shea butter. It'll be beneficial for your skin." Diana placed the wipe in the bedpan, then removed the bedpan from between his legs. She grabbed another wipe and started cleaning mucus from his anus.

He moaned. The cold, luscious wipe felt amazing on his sore anus. The very faint scent was so relaxing.

Diana felt badly for having cut his bath short. She took a wipe to his scrotum, as carefully as she's ever been on anything. Lightly moving the skin around, especially getting underneath, where sweat has been building up. She gently gripped his member and cleaned around the catheter, quickly before he could get hard again. "Let's get your pants off and wipe down your legs."

Covering him back up with the towel, she went to the counter to grab the folded pants and boxers. "Would you like some new socks?"

"No." He didn't have the energy to worry about them being put on correctly.


	11. barry insecurity and Bruce feels

Diana hung up her phone. Alfred was managing to keep some early guests occupied, as Bruce was just finally making it home.

She interrupted Barry, who was bored and twiddling with his sweater. "Do you want to go upstairs? Bruce is home."

A wheelchair rolled up to his bed. Her voice rattled off about going upstairs.

He looked down at his body. He wasn't sure how he felt about being empty, having shit his guts out. His frame was so small, and there are furniture legs thicker than his legs. Belly even smaller than ever due to using the bedpan. It wasn't possible to convince himself that his hip bones were simply too big for his body. Barry was really letting himself go.

The sweater helped his appearance. Added a few pounds. Though it wouldn't make him fit in that wheelchair any better. They both knew his butt was too scrawny to support himself in the seat that was originally intended to fit a real man with a real body.

But, if it was for Bruce. Why not? Bruce has already seen this travesty of a person in his worst condition.

His butt dropped into the padding of the wheelchair. See, Diana knew as well that he'd be sliding around in it, and she put a good deal of padding on the seat.

After buckling him into the seat, she was behind him. He was moving forward, away from the bed and towards the door. With glances to his lap, he couldn't remember getting into the chair, or Diana making him comfortable. Let alone saying yes to leaving the room. Butterflies knocked around in his gut and were probably eating the tissue very slowly. The rubber of the chair's wheels was creaking along the metal floor very slowly, yet it felt like they'd teleported to the elevator.

Barry turned his head up at Diana. Her smile met his eyes. As of she knew she'd have to remind him, "Bruce is upstairs in the foyer. Alfred is tending to a few gusts who've arrived early, so we can see Bruce for a while." And how it would be good for him to get a change of scenery and some socialization.

She'd made the decision for him. As nice as it was, he wasn't sure. He couldn't poop on his own, and he'd already had his genitals on full display, and now he was being toted around like a pet.

He wondered what was going on in her mind. There's no way she wasn't flashing back to what his taint looked like. She knew now. And her wonder memory would always know. There's also no way she wasn't running with millions of thoughts - the size of his junk, the colors and conditions, how he definitely wasn't very clean, how he couldn't suppress his pleasure when her finger dabbed his prostate. How he couldn't take care of anything on his own. The smile on her face was out of respect and friendliness, but she definitely had a laugh or mocking opinion hiding behind it. It wasn't discreet.

He looked up occasionally. He trusted her, he really truly did and he really should have. But the fact she was behind his line of view made him run cold.

Her hands picked up his blood pressure and the chills down his back. She squeezed the handles of the chair and stopped right outside the elevator. "Barry, it's alright."

Barry found her eyes. His head pressed into her torso. She was so warm and plushy that it got a sigh from him.

"We're in the Manor now, Barry."

He looked around. In all honesty, he couldn't think he'd ever been there before. He didn't know what he was looking at. Sucking on his bottom lip, he glossed over the large windows and the light that bounced through the empty corridor. He turned up at Diana, then back forward to find that they were moving again. Very slowly inching down the corridor.

Her light, gradual footsteps were calming to him. It reminded him that they were going together. That she was going to handle everything. He was far from bed, but it was together with her.

Diana smiled harder when his head dug harder into her. "You'll be alright. We're going to see Bruce for a few minutes. Maybe you can have a snack. Then we can go back to bed."

He loved when she used the word "we". He had a chill on his face and neck, though her breasts and insulation were keeping him comfortable. A cramp in his belly made a snack sound good.

"We'll need to turn around so I can push this door open."

The turn was super slow, like she was slowly dragging him in a circle. His head pressed deep into her. His hand was clammy when it grabbed his hot face.

"I'm sorry, Barry." She tried to make the next turn less drastic, but it only made him more disoriented. She stopped outside the door. "Here, let's take a break."

Diana gently leaned into him. She combed his hair with her nails, both to comfort him and make sure he looked good.

He watched her crouched in front of him. His eyes were between her hand as it stroked his hair and her eyes as she studied his face. Her quiet voice said, "It's alright. Would you like to stay here, and I get-?"

Bruce came into the distance. His eyes met Barry's for a moment but felt badly and strayed away. Diana stood up to greet the man, as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"He is getting warm again. His belly is upset, so perhaps he could have a snack or seltzer, if Alfred is finished." She gave answers to questions before they could be asked. "He ate a full lunch and used his pan."

Barry looked around everywhere, even at Bruce's forehead, before he could look into the man's eyes. To hell if Bruce were to know the details. Which he most likely did, or would.

"-and I would say some inspection is needed."

She needed to stop. He reached out to grab her, maybe her hand or arm or something.

She turned around to a brush to her clothes. Crouching back down, she took Barry's hand. "I apologize, Barry, but he needs to know how you're doing."

With a forced nod, Bruce chimed in. "It's good to know you're taken care of. It's great that you're eating now."

Diana chuckled. Tighter hold to his hand. "He's been worried. He means to apologize-"

"For not being there." Bruce sighed, trying to not avoid Barry's eyes. Despite Barry's avoiding his. "Don't know what I've been doing. I... cut short on a few things I'm supposed to be doing. Have inspections to do still, that shouldn't have been put off."

Her eyebrow raised, knowing what he was talking about. But it was fine. "Bruce is happy that you came up here with me, Barry."

Bruce and Barry shared a "yeah". Barry finally found Bruce's gaze and it warranted a half smile. The man's hand pressed to the younger's forehead. "He is warm. "

"When I checked earlier, he was 99. He's felt chilly, and I hope it's not too cold in here."

His fatigued arms wrapped around her arm, soaking up the warmth. Now that Diana had said something, he was feeling cold and lonely. And a little disoriented, like before.

She gave her arm, rubbing his chest.

He couldn't pay attention to what she'd said. He was too focused on how the pain was suddenly becoming mild. He wasn't even aware that his chest had been burning until she began rubbing it better. It was mostly in his belly now, near his liver. Something odd inside of him told him to not tell her, although she knew. Diana was well aware. And she'd make sure Bruce knew. As comforting as it was, it also sent an odd wave of doom through him. What if everyone would know, and everyone would try to help?


	12. AN Who wants more?

I've been having some mental health problems and I'm getting back to living. I enjoy writing this story but I need to manage my time. If people enjoy this and want more updates, I'm sorry for the wait, it's not too late, please tell me and I will start writing again. Otherwise I will be focusing on other stories and new drabbles/requests. I appreciate everyone who's been here, it's amazing I can share my ideas with you.


	13. BruceBarry (anorexia trigger)

Bruce nodded, his finger pointing to Barry's chest. "I asked last night - your chest. Does it hurt?"

Diana stared into Barry. He would need to answer.

He opened his mouth, ready to say yes. His reddened lips glossed over, drool bubbling out of his teeth and trailing onto his chin. Once it reached his neck, Diana pulled a cloth from her pocket and cleaned him off. Barry grabbed her hand then gently moved it away and let go. "It feels- - - -" fast, rough. Like a machine, pumping to his aching head and cock. But the spicy drool wasn't letting any of those words come out. "Heartburn..?"

Bruce cracked, "Heartburn so bad you rub your chest all day?"

Diana rubbed his shoulder.

A gruff sigh. "There are things..." Wrong. "Barry, you wouldn't..." Understand? Of course the boy gets it. Empathize? Cope? Bruce can't say that.

Barry reached for Diana's hand. Peering around them, trying to see through the turns of the hallway. "Could we maybe get something to eat?" Maybe some cake or pasta or - doubt it but let's try - pizza? Something chunky with fibers of carbs. That bubbles with fat at a high temp. Nothing is drowned in salt or sugar or grease. Nothing sounds good.

Barry fidgeted with Diana's fingers. "Or just... Nevermind." He took turns looking them both in the eyes. "Can I just go back to my room?"

Diana looked at Bruce then back down. "Alright. We can bring you a plate down. Or a snack platter, if that's more accessible."

"No... it's fine. I'm not hungry." When his belly piped up to prove him wrong, Alfred's voice echoed in the distance. Barry mumbled, "I mean. With what Alfred has to a deal with."

"Barry," she laughed - probably at Barry's stupid remark, "Alfred has the party. I will go get you something." With that, she broke her hand free, patted Barry's shoulder, and was off down the hall.

He tucked towards his knee, then the floor to count the marble tiles, or the pillar near his head, basically anything besides for the bear that stood at least two feet above his head. Whose heavy breathing made his neck stiffen, oddly, making his cock twinge instead of retracting with fear.

Bruce grabbed the armrests of Barry's chair and hovered over the side. He demanded, "You have to eat."

"hhn," softly came from Barry. His eyes glossed up and blinked to suppress the tears.

Bruce's tone went softer, but not any less low or gruff. "Barry, I mean it." His eyebrows were furrowed though softer. "I know how much you need to eat. If you're hungry, you need to be eating."

Barry's eyes trailed up the hall. Diana's heel disappeared behind the corner. Her voice whispered like a feather, but hit like a brick- "Alfred I'm making a platter for Barry..."

"The desserts are still in the kitchen, Miss Prince. Shall I prepare some?"

They all knew what Bruce "Knew" he had to eat.

"No, but thank you, Alfred."

Barry clenched the armrests of the wheelchair. Bending his arms, but without his back arching, to not stand.

"Madam, there is plenty of parfait to go around." And plenty for Diana to shove down Barry's throat. Hopefully enough to make him barf it up, the way things were after the special fight team's boss battle with Superman wore Barry down and sent the baby crying to Alfred for enough parfait to feed an army, and enough food to cover the entire lakehouse's patio floor. Months of food wasted. Alfred had made the mistake of being generous. "An accident", "unintentional", as Alfred tried to croon, "nothing unseen before, Barry". All of which was going to change. No more.

Even if he had to go against Bruce, for this one time. It was saving everyone, especially Bruce, from the horror. The slob, the waste, the chunks would not be a problem. Nor the food or the trail of vomit.

Bruce clenched the handles on each side of Barry's head. The lingering odor of rubber was masked too well by his grip's sweat and fancy shaving cream; the man's gruffly warm breath as he leaned toward Barry's hair was actually comforting; there was no anxiety or deappetizing.

The chair whipped around 180. Barry's fists tightened white and his head rammed into the man's layered chest. Brown mist encased his vision, black spots floated on the wall and floor, and were slowly washed away by another migraine wave. His lungs were flat from sudden shock, he was flushed up through his chest to his furrowed brow. His raspy grunt was followed by Bruce's raspier huff. Bruce corrected himself with a cough. "Barry." The way a parent does with their little shit, respectively. "We are going back to the room where it's quiet. And you can eat. Alfred brought you a TV, Diana will be with you, and I will be back."

Barry huffed through his teeth to catch his breath. His elbow raising to try opening his lungs. "Stop, please," came out. It was impossible to reorientate as Bruce pushed his chair through space.

"Nno."

"Barry."

Not ten feet away from hundreds of people. An amount that could easily make up a quarter of Gotham, or Barry's entire home city. Impressionable, fancily dressed, weathily fat, polished individuals that Bruce deserved respect from. Barry's fluttering eyes squeezed a tear out. He swallowed as id the pain would go down with it and disintegrate in the acid, because it didn't matter. The shock was no reason to stop and embarrass Bruce.

"We're going." The chair strode forward at professional walking speed. Bruce's hard steps ticking towards the panels that concealed the hallway separating them and Barry's room. Bruce needed to be responsible, more importantly not allow Barry to starve and strain away from beds due to a tantrum out of his control.

Barry's hands, still retained in loose fists, rested onto his lap.

Tilting his head and slowing down a little was Bruce's "thanks".


	14. GGo to archive of our own to see more

Go to AO3 (archive of our own) to see more of this. I update at least once a month by the same pen name.

I have not been able to get into this account until now. I am considering abandoning this because there are many updates to do and this may end up getting removed anyway. Tell me if you cannot access AO3 for whatever reason, otherwise I'll see you there. I would please like kudos there instead of favorite here.


End file.
